Road Trip
by GinnyNoTonic
Summary: Follows on from Winter, which followed Summer; you don't have to have read them - but it helps.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

"Fuck sake Aaron! Get a move on! That's Finn and Greg left Hexham!" Jackson was standing at the bottom of the bed. He was naked. "C'mon, this text came through ages ago!" Jackson felt his face begin to colour under the short curls of his beard, he remembered the slight distraction of the ping of the text message arriving, but he hadn't wanted to stop what he was doing to answer it.

Aaron stretched under the sheet that was the only cover on the bed. His body was glistening with sweat, his breathing still rapid although it was gradually slowing down. He slid lower in the bed, making himself comfortable and running his tongue over his lips, he looked at Jackson.

"You are such a slut, Livesy," Jackson chuckled, "but if you're hard again you'll just have to sort yourself out, I'm going for a quick shower. They could be in Hotton in an hour and we've still got heaps to do."

"Not that much," retorted Aaron, "we're more or less packed."

But there's nothing in the van yet," said Jackson emphatically, "We need to get the mattress in; I'm guessing you don't want to sleep on the floor!"

"Okay okay! I'll get up...if you're sure?" He quirked one eyebrow, glancing towards his groin, his blue eyes dancing with mischief.

"You're insatiable!" laughed Jackson, picking up a towel and pulling it loosely round his hips, covering himself and the evidence that Aaron could so easily have him again.

"Only for you Jay, only for you," smirked Aaron. "Besides, we're on holiday, days and days of nothing to do!"

"Except meet Finn and Greg, Robbie and Simon in less than two hours! Now get up!"

"I am up!" Aaron began to push back the sheet from his chest.

"And I'm out of here!" laughing Jackson, pulling his towel more firmly around himself before he left the room.

There was no sign of Aaron when he returned from the shower a few minutes later. He dressed quickly, unable to stop a smile creasing his face as he caught sight of their two holdalls haphazardly tumbled, one on top of the other, in the corner of the room, a bulging plastic bag with things forgotten beside them. It took him moments to dress, the day was already warm and it was a matter of seconds to pull on the boxers, cut-offs and tee shirt that he had left handy the night before. He took the bags with him as he went downstairs, shrugging the handle of one high up his arm so the weight of the bag lay across his back, catching the other two up by the handles in one hand. It was a bit awkward negotiating the doorway from the room and the narrow staircase but he managed it, dropping them unceremoniously by the front door before heading to the kitchen. He could hear raised voices.

"I'm not saying you've got to phone her three times a day," Cain snapped, "just text her every couple of days or so; she's your mother, she worries."

Scowling, saying nothing, Aaron turned back toward the kettle, flicking it on.

"I mean it Aaron," growled Cain, fixing him with a dark, warning stare. "Now make me a coffee then do one. I want to talk to Jackson."

A chill ran the length of Jackson's spine. However long he knew Cain, however well they seemed to get on, there was always that dark, brooding air of menace about him that he heeded as a warning.

They both watched in silence as Aaron made two more mugs of coffee before he left the room. Cain said nothing until he heard Aaron's feet on the stairs, climbing to their room

"Muppet!" said Cain, almost affectionately. "Just make sure he texts her occasionally," he sighed, sipping his coffee. "You know what Chas is like; none of us will get any peace if he doesn't, if she starts worrying."

"Will do," replied Jackson. That couldn't be it all, he thought, there must be more. He hugged his mug to his chest, waiting.

"The van's sorted, spares fine, full tool kit and there's a double layer of carpet in it," continued Cain. "You alright for money?"

"Yeah, we're not too bad between us," replied Jackson.

"There's a couple of hundred in an envelope under all the rubbish in the glove box," said Cain, "for emergencies. Don't tell him," he nodded in the general direction of the upper floor of the house, "it's not for burgers and beers."

"Thanks," said Jackson.

"And if there are any problems, we're just at the end of the phone, me or Paddy," he pulled a wry face, "but call us, anytime. You've got our numbers in your phone?"

"Yes," affirmed Jackson quickly, pulling his mobile from his pocket and scrolling through his call list. "You, Tug Ghyll, garage and mobile," he read, "Paddy home, mobile and surgery. Chas."

Cain nodded, satisfied. "Just take care, all of you. And have a good time."

The door clicked open; Aaron came back into the room.

"Finished?" he questioned.

"More or less," said Cain. "Send us a postcard and don't go without saying goodbye." He got up, with a last piercing look, he sauntered from the room. Seconds later the back door slammed behind him.

"What was that all about?" demanded Aaron

"Oh just Cain showing he cares," said Jackson quietly, "but it would never do for him to show it," he mused. "Right c'mon, let's get the mattress into the van; that needs to go in before we can put anything else in."

It took them longer to load the van than at least Aaron had expected. The mattress was awkward to manoeuvre down the narrow staircase of Smithy Cottage, then there was sheets, their quilt, pillows, the bags of clothes, bags of things that had been forgotten or were last minute additions. There were boxes that Hazel had packed with plates, mugs, cutlery and other kitchen equipment she thought they might need. Jackson tried to explain that Finn and Greg, Robbie and Simon were hiring camper vans that came with fully equipped kitchens. That they fully intended sampling plenty of take aways, but that cut no ice with her and a box of food was ready for them too. In the midst of all this chaos, Simon phoned; Finn and Greg had arrived, the kettle was on, where were they?

It was almost an hour after Simon phoned before they were ready to leave. All their stuff had been piled in the back of the van, neatly at first, more higgledy piggledy as the pressure of time passing mounted. Then there was the goodbyes; Chas, acting as though they were emigrating to Australia; Hazel, attempting to press two more carrier bags of goodies onto them; Paddy, his usual expression of bemused concern on his face as the preparations came to a frantic conclusion around him. And Cain; returned but saying little, just looking.

At last they were ready; Jackson jumped into the driving seat, with the window open, he could still hear Hazel talking, a much to herself as to him. The other side of the van, Aaron stood at the door trying to escape from Chas, from last minute instructions.

"Let them go," growled Cain. "They're big boys; they don't need you two fussing over them!"

Gratefully Aaron jumped beside Jackson; at last they were on their way! He stuck his head and arm out of the window and waved enthusiastically.

"Just get us out of here before they think of something else to say and chase us," said Aaron, turning his head briefly towards Jackson.

In seconds a bend in the road had hidden their concerned family from view.

"Go left at the junction down here," said Aaron.

"I know the way to Hotton," replied Jackson.

"I know you do, but I always tell you which way to go when we set off."

"Idiot!" Jackson grinned at him.

Fifteen minutes later they were in Hotton, pulling up outside Robbie and Simon's flat. Two camper vans were there already, reminding them how late they were.

Locking the van behind them, they ran up the steps to Robbie and Simon's front door, knocked loudly then opened it.

"At last!" exclaimed Simon, coming into the hall to meet them. He hugged each of them briefly, ushering them into the small sitting room where the others were gathered, waiting for them.

"Sorry!" apologised Aaron, we were a bit later than we planned getting away." He glanced at Jackson, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Oh don't tell us, we can imagine," laughed Finn, hugging Aaron tightly. The younger man had almost leapt into Finn's arms, such had been his delight at seeing his friend; it had been a couple of months since they had last spent any time together and now they were on the brink of a holiday that seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of them.

"Have we time for a coffee or are you guys anxious to head straight off?" asked Jackson.

"Plenty of time," said Greg. "I'll make it; I think Robbie and Simon still have a few bits to take down to their van."

Greg disappeared into the kitchen and began making coffee for them all. He wasn't unfamiliar with his friend's kitchen and soon found the mugs, coffee and even some biscuits. He could hear the excited activity in the rest of the flat as the other men went in and out with the last of Simon and Robbie's things.

"I'm sure Simon is taking his whole wardrobe with him," laughed Jackson, coming into the kitchen.

"Well you know what he's like!" replied Greg, "goodness knows how he's gonna cope in a camper van! Help yourself to coffee; they're all the same, sugars on the table."

It was more than an hour before they were finally ready to leave. As they drunk their coffee they poured over a road map, the front page of the book showing the whole of the country.

"So we're just doing what we said before?" questioned Robbie. "Straight down the motorway today, heading west?"

"Think so," replied Greg, looking round at the others.

"How long d'you reckon it will take us?" asked Finn.

Robbie shrugged. "Five hours, six maybe, depending on the traffic. But we don't have to go that far if it gets late or we want to stop somewhere else."

"C'mon then," said Aaron jumping up and reaching to take their empty coffee mugs. "What are we waiting for?"

"Well for most of the morning, it's been you, you slut!" laughed Simon

Aaron pulled a face at Simon but soon was smiling again. They were all excited, on the verge of their holiday, a holiday they had been planning for several months, by phone, by text message and email. And now it was here. At last they left the flat; last out, Robbie locked the door behind them, giving it a final rattle, checking it was secure. The door was locked fast; their holiday had begun.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The three vans, two of them camper vans hired by Finn and Greg, Robbie and Simon and Jackson's blue work van, were parked, end to end, on the road. They had decided their direction, the roads they would take heading south and west, but had agreed not to try and travel in convoy.

Jackson jumped into the driving seat and pulled his seat belt across his body, clicking it into place.

"Ready?" he asked, grinning across at Aaron, letting his hand rest briefly on his boyfriend's leg.

"Ready!" agreed Aaron. He picked up their road atlas, opening it at the page that had Hotton in the top, left hand corner. In a few hours they would have travelled over four or five pages, over a couple of hundred miles, maybe more. It didn't matter, the days of their holiday stretched before, unplanned and full of promise.

In front of them, the first camper van, Robbie and Simon's, pulled away from the curb; Finn and Greg's van followed. Jackson turned the key, bringing the engine quickly to life. Briefly he leant across towards Aaron, swiftly planting a kiss on his lips, taking him by surprise.

"This is it then," he said, his dark eyes alive with excitement. "Now the holiday has really begun!"

The motorways were tedious, busy with cars, lorries by the dozen and caravans and camper vans, the summer holiday season was in full swing. Jackson and Aaron had lost sight of the other two vans even before they left Hotton, but it didn't matter, they knew where they were heading, they all had phones to keep in touch and had agreed to drive for a good couple of hours before their first stop. Besides, they were on holiday, what was the rush?

The busy road took them south and west; in the long discussions during the weeks and months after the idea had been born they had endlessly considered destinations, discussed at length the best time to go knowing it was madly busy in the south west corner of England during the peak holiday period but deciding that was where they wanted to go anyway. Now here they were, at the beginning of the summer with the sun blazing warmly down on them and the forecast full of promise.

They had stopped once, pulling into a motorway service area only to swap over, Aaron jumping into the driving seat leaving Jackson in charge of the music, the map, the sweeties and their phones. They had been seeing signs for the west for an hour before one of the phones chirped into life. Jackson took the call, scrabbling for the map as he spoke.

"Junction 13, then a right after a mile or so," he said, tracing the route on the map with his finger. "Left after another couple of miles - yes I see where you are." He paused; listening to the instructions from whichever of their friends was calling.

"I don't think we're too far behind you," he said, "so probably fifteen, twenty minutes until we get there. Get the kettle on!" He clicked to disconnect the call.

"What's happening?" asked Aaron without taking his eyes from the busy motorway.

"The guys want to stop for a coffee," explained Jackson. "Where are we? Have we passed junction twelve yet?"

"The last was eleven a minute or two ago," said Aaron.

"Should be less than ten miles then," said Jackson, checking the distance on the map

In a very short time they had passed junction twelve and in almost no time the countdown signs for the next junction began to appear.

It was less than twenty minutes later when they pulled up behind the other two vans in a large lay by. Finn was sitting on the step of his van, Robbie and Simon standing close, talking to him. There was no sign of Greg.

"He's phoning a pub a few miles away," explained Finn as Aaron and Jackson joined them. "He was looking online as I drove and reckons they've got a field beside them where they let vans stay overnight. Would you be okay if we didn't go much further tonight? We had an early start, getting kinda tired now."

"Course," replied Aaron. "Where's this coffee you said would be on the go then?"

"Right here," said Greg, appearing in the doorway behind Finn, two mugs carefully clutched in each hand. "Pass them over, Finn." He waited while Finn turned and took the mugs in turn, passing them on. Greg turned back into the van for the last two mugs, his own and Finn's, before leaning against the doorframe, sipping his coffee as he continued speaking.

"Apparently it's just a field, no electric hook-ups or anything although there's a loo and shower at the pub that's available to use. It's about six miles from here."

"Sounds fine," said Robbie, glancing across at Simon. They had been looking forward to getting away; it had been a busy few months for both of them but anticipating this holiday had kept them going. And now they were here and it was only the first day, Robbie smiled. Understanding, sharing his feelings, Simon smiled back.

With their coffee finished, they set off again, in convoy this time, down the small country road, Finn and Greg's van in the lead. It took only a matter of minutes, a few twists and turns of the road and they had covered the handful of miles to the small, picturesque village.

The pub was easy to find, in the centre of the main street opposite the church, the age-old conjunction of the saintly and the secular. They pulled into the large car park and Greg opened the passenger door of their van, jumping down, he began to walk towards the entrance to the pub.

"Hold on!" called Robbie, jumping down from the second van. "I'll come with you."

They disappeared from view. Finn left his van and moved to stand at the open window of the blue van; Jackson had been driving and now Finn leant on the sill, peering in.

"Looks a nice little place," he said, nodding towards the pub.

"As long as the lager's cold," said Aaron, "that'll do me."

"You're such a heathen," scoffed Simon, appearing at the other window, close to Aaron. "You should be trying all the local ales."

Aaron pulled a face. "Like you're gonna, I suppose," he teased.

"Well some," replied Simon. "This is just the right kind of area for little independent breweries."

"Well I'm happy being a heathen, I'll stick with lager," grinned Aaron, "leave the real ale anoraking to you!"

Simon grinned back at him, sticking out his tongue. "Try it, you might like it," he teased.

"That's what they said about sex with girls," shot back Aaron, laughing out loud at the face Simon pulled.

"Here they come," said Finn, drawing their attention back to Greg and Robbie now emerging from the pub. "They look pleased with themselves."

Greg and Robbie did have smug, satisfied smiles on their faces as they walked back towards the vans. Greg moved to stand behind Finn, resting against him as he leant into the van allowing Aaron and Jackson and Simon, still leaning in the window from the other side of the van, to hear.

"We go through the gate at the far end of the car park into the field," Greg explained. "There're two other vans and a tent there but the chap said they were at the top end of the field and it's plenty big enough."

"Right, come on then!" said Simon excitedly, pulling Robbie back towards their van. "Let's go and get sorted and get back for a pint."

The gate was at the far end of the car park, the field stretched back behind the hedge that hid the car park from view towards the car park and away from them. They could see one camper van and a tent set up in the corner of the field closest to the pub; Robbie, driving the van in front, headed towards the opposite side of the field; there was plenty of room, no need to be on top of the other campers.

They parked the vans in a U-shape, their doors all opening inwards, leaving the open end of the U looking across the field to the gently rolling countryside beyond.

"Well done Greg," said Jackson, jumping down from his van and walking into the U. "It's a nice spot you found."

"It'll do for tonight anyway," agreed Greg. "The menu at the bar looked pretty decent too if you want to eat there."

"I don't mind cooking," said Simon. "Or at least, flinging something together from the stuff we all brought."

"We've got heaps of food," said Aaron, "Hazel insisted. It's been in the cool box all day but we should probably eat it tonight."

"That's sorted then," said Greg. "Did anyone think to bring deck chairs with them?"

It didn't take them long to make themselves comfortable; lacking deckchairs, they spread a couple of blankets on the ground and gathered the food they had brought with them into a feast. The box Hazel had provided proved to contain a variety of salads and a selection of cold meat. With cheese, bread and cake to round the meal off, they were soon tucking in, finding a sudden hunger at the sight of the food.

"Why does food always taste better out of doors?" mused Jackson idly as he took a bite of the monster sandwich he had created from a little of all the choices on his plate.

"Must be to do with the sunshine," replied Simon.

"And the company," said Finn, lifting his can of lager, saluting them all with it.

They didn't hurry their meal; the evening was still warm and pleasant, the field filled with the smell of grass that had had the hot sun playing on it all day. Even this late, a few insects still buzzed lazily on the summer air. They had cans of beer and lager with them, it was nice just lounging on the grass, talking, not talking, listening to the sounds of the summer and little else.

Jackson closed his eyes letting the quiet rumble of voices drift over him. He had been so busy the last few months and the last couple of weeks had been frantic, trying to finish all his outstanding work before the holiday. But now he could feel himself beginning to relax, begin to feel the tension seep from his body as though it was leaking away into the earth beneath him, leaving him refreshed and renewed.

"Don't fall asleep," murmured Aaron beside him.

"Mmm," muttered Jackson.

Aaron plucked a stem of grass; he was lying on his stomach, he had been talking to Simon on his other side, a lazy conversation about nothing at all. Turning towards Jackson, he had found him dozing. Gently he drew the grass across Jackson's face, watching him twitch a small muscle in his cheek, tying to distract the annoying tickle. He reached out again, this time letting the blade of grass flick teasingly at the very tip Jackson's nose.

Without waking up, without opening his eyes, Jackson swiped his hand lazily at his nose, trying to swat away the annoying sensation.

"Piss off, Aaron," said Jackson sleepily.

"Me! I'm not doing anything!" protested Aaron hotly.

"You've got a bit of grass or something and you're annoying me with it." Jackson keeked open one eye and looked balefully at Aaron.

Aaron shrugged, "I just don't want you to waste the evening," he said.

"Maybe I'm saving myself for the night," murmured Jackson teasingly.

"Oh yeah," said Aaron, turning further towards Jackson now, "got anything planned?"

His face was inches from Jackson, inches from the closed eyes and rose red lips, half hidden in the short curls of his beard, but Aaron could see the occasional twitch of humour flick across them and knew Jackson was playing with him.

"Maybe," murmured Jackson, his eyes still closed.

"Tell me," whispered Aaron quietly, his voice husky now as he felt the first thrill of desire flash through his body.

"I want you," said Jackson. "I want you naked, underneath me. I want to run my hand all over your body, watching you get turned on as I touch you. And after I've played with you, got you so hard and needing, I want to fuck you until you see stars behind your eyes."

Aaron groaned quietly, he was lying on his stomach, listening, but now his already hardening cock was making its presence uncomfortably felt and he pushed himself against the firm ground, struggling for relief.

"Stop it," he breathed.

"Well you asked," replied Jackson, opening his eyes, chocolate dark pools dancing with mischief and lust as they locked on Aaron's blue ones, such a short distance away.

"Is it too early to go to bed yet," muttered Aaron. He thought he had spoken quietly, his words only for Jackson to hear.

"Yes it is Livesy, you slut!" Beside him, Simon spoke, leaning over to poke him sharply in the ribs. "Did you not get enough this morning? We know that's why you were late," he smirked.

"Oh so you're gonna live like a monk this holiday, are you?" teased Aaron.

"Err...no-oh, he's not!" laughed Robbie, "he can be a hot little slut as much as anyone!"

"Me!" protested Simon in mock horror.

"Yes you," replied Robbie.

"Well! I'm shocked!" continued Simon. "Besides, I never hear you complaining!"

"Oh I'm not complaining at all," asserted Robbie. "So what are we doing? Wandering across the field to the pub for a pint or having a group orgy?"

"Orgy?" replied Simon hopefully, jumping as Robbie slapped him on his bare arm, laughing as he did so.

"A pint sounds good to me," laughed Greg. "Besides, the pub might have wi-fi, we can have a look at places to stay further west.

It took only a few minutes to clear the last of their things away and walk up the slight incline of the field towards the pub. The tables outside were all full with people enjoying their drinks in the last of the evening sunshine.

Greg and Robbie led the way into the bar; the long, low room was wood panelled, the dark old oak gleaming with years, perhaps centuries of polish and wood smoke. Some of the tables were occupied and a number of folk were propping up the bar. Jackson and Greg went to the bar, waiting to be served, leaving the others to find seats at a large table by the unlit fire place.

"There'll be music in twenty minutes, half an hour or so," reported Jackson as he arrived at the table with the first three pints. "Well a man with a guitar anyway."

Aaron pulled a face. "Maybe we should neck these and head," he said. "Not sure if I'm in the mood for some country bumpkin singing crap old songs out of tune."

"I'm with you on that one, mate," laughed Simon.

"You just want to get your leg over," said Robbie.

Simon smiled, saying nothing, although the look of sheer hunger in his eyes as he gazed towards Robbie left no one in any doubt that was exactly what he wanted.

"The barman said we'd be better booking places on a site if we're heading west," said Greg bringing the remaining pints to the table. "He said it gets mobbed and they get a bit funny about you parking up just anywhere."

Aaron pulled a face, he had hoped they would have been able to find remote places where they would just be themselves, not on some huge site surrounded by families with screaming kids.

"That doesn't surprise me," said Finn. "Don't worry," he continued, seeing Aaron's disappointed face, "we'll look for nice, small sites."

"He's got a book of farm sites he's gonna let us have a look at," said Greg.

Minutes later the barman walked over to their table with the book.

"There you go, guys," he said, dropping the book into the middle of the table. "There are some nice places in there; I've used it a lot. Just drop it back in before you leave."

"Thanks," said Greg.

They spent an hour or so in the pub, pouring over the book of pleasant looking campsites and enjoying their pints. By the time they left, although the light was finally fading to the navy darkness of a summer night it was still easy to see their path back across the field to their vans.

Their goodnights said, they made their way to their vans.

Aaron jumped into the blue van behind Jackson, pulling the door closed behind him. Jackson was already peeling off his tee shirt; he dropped it in a heap by their makeshift bed, as he did so, his eyes flicked over Aaron's body. He knew Aaron was looking at him too, he could feel the heat of desire emanating from his eyes as he knew himself under scrutiny too. He turned his body slightly then slid his trousers and boxers down; first over one hip, pausing for the briefest second, glancing up to make sure Aaron was entranced by his actions before bending a little, sliding them off his hips, down further, stepping out of them and kicking them away from the mattress; he stood still for a moment before dropping down, pushing the covers back and silently inviting Aaron to join him.

Quickly Aaron discarded his own clothes; he sank to the mattress, kneeling, he straddled Jackson's hips enjoying the feeling of Jackson's rapidly hardening cock straining upwards between his own legs.

"You're such a turn on, Jay," Aaron whispered as he felt their skin meet, "such a tease; you make me want you so much. And I'm gonna have you, Jay, now." His words were hardly more than a breath hanging in the air between them.

He leant forward and slid his hands upwards over Jackson's chest, capturing his arms, pushing them until he could pin them against the pillow above Jackson's head. There was hardly any light in the van now at the darkest hour of the summer night, but Aaron didn't need it, he knew Jackson's body intimately, he knew the places to touch him, to tease him, to make him groan with mounting pleasure. He bent forward, closer, until his warm breath caressed Jackson's skin; feeling Jackson's arousal spread through his body, Aaron paused for a moment, enjoying the sensation of domination that played through his mind.

"Keep still, Jay, let me take you, don't move," Aaron looked down at his lover, pinned beneath him. He blew gently then, directly onto Jackson's nipple and was rewarded by feeling his lover move beneath him in pleasure. He bent his head, his lips encircling his nipple, his tongue flicked over it, once, twice, he could feel a response, could feel it swelling, hardening, with the attention. He caught it lightly with his teeth, tugging slightly before nipping it sharply, enjoying Jackson's sudden intake of breath at the unexpected painful pleasure.

Aaron smiled to himself then returned his attention to Jackson's chest, now sucking, licking and biting both nipples, feeling his lover's need grow more urgent. He shifted his position slightly, allowing Jackson's cock to escape from its confines beneath his own body; leaning forward, he rocked against it, pressing it between their stomachs. As he drew back a little, he could feel a dampness on his stomach as Jackson's cock began to dribble pre-cum onto them both.

Aaron moved quickly now, fleetingly but hungrily kissing Jackson before turning to give the full attention of his mouth to Jackson's swollen cock. He could imagine how it was aching for relief, his own was throbbing, similarly aching, but for now he wanted to concentrate on pleasuring Jackson. His turn would come.

He flicked his tongue over the swollen cockhead; he could taste the rich, salty cum. He let his lips slide over it, taking it deeper into his mouth; he began to suck even as his tongue moved, teased. He began to take it deeper, knowing the rhythmic movements would be inching his lover closer to his climax.

He could feel Jackson beginning to move beneath him, matching his movements to his own, his hips thrusting upwards meeting Aaron's mouth pushing downwards as he took the rigid cock deeper into his throat.

Jackson stretched, arching his back a little, revelling in the sensations flooding through his body. Aaron moved one hand, cupping Jackson's arse until his fingers strayed into his crack; gently he ran just one finger up and down the valley, barely touching him but knowing such a gentle touch would thrill through his entire body. He let his finger come to rest at Jackson's flower; he could feel it puckering invitingly under his touch; teasingly he circled it, excited it, but he wasn't going there, not just yet.

Jackson moved then, reaching out his arms, pressing the palms of his hands against the skin of Aaron's back. Then he gripped! He couldn't help it, his hands clenching into the hard muscle of Aaron's back, his nails digging in. Suddenly he had to thrust harder, suddenly he was fucking Aaron's face, it was more, far more than just a blow job!

He couldn't reach Aaron's cock; he knew he would be hard, rigid almost to the point of bursting with need. He put his hands on Aaron's hips, trying to pull his arse backwards, nearer him, nearer his own mouth.

Aaron felt Jackson's hands at his hips, knew what he was trying to do, but he didn't want that, not yet; he wanted this to be all for Jackson and he was so close, he could feel it. He wriggled his hips, hoping Jackson would understand. He did, his hands dropped away from his hips. Quickly Aaron intensified his movements, his mouth taking the length of Jackson, sucking, swallowing; his hands cupped Jackson's balls, tugging gently, squeezing.

Stars appeared behind Jackson's eyes, suddenly he was there, the tension, the crescendo of sensation knotting itself in the very centre of his being before exploding throughout his body, overwhelming him, making him shake with pleasure and fulfilment. The spasms seems to last a long time, before they were completely spent he struggled to sit up a little, pushing against Aaron's weight, against his own sated satisfaction; before he gave in to the feeling utterly, he needed Aaron to share it with him.

Urgently he leant against Aaron, making him turn, at last giving Jackson room to reach his cock. Grasping it, he was tempted to go down on him to, but at the first touch of his fingers against the sensitive, engorged skin Aaron began to move, thrusting encouragingly into Jackson's hand. Quickly he jerked his hand, hard, rhythmically; Aaron's breathing came quicker, bursting gasps then long seconds of nothing as he held it, intensifying, letting his climax build within him until he could hold it no longer and crashing, exploding, it burst upon him, shudderingly, taking him, holding him suspended in the grip of his orgasm before releasing him, exhausted, exhilarated, satisfied.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Robbie lay on the grass, it was barely nine o'clock but already the sun was warm and there was the buzz of insects promising another hot day filling the still air above him. The smell of breakfast cooking wafted towards him from Finn and Greg's van although he knew it was Simon helping Greg prepare the food; Finn had wandered up to the pub to avail himself of the facilities. It was quiet, he could hear birds singing in the closest hedges of the field; he had been aware of them, vaguely, from the early summer dawn and knew that soon, as the heat of the day grew fierce, they would hide until the cooler temperatures of the late afternoon.

There was no sound yet from the blue van but Robbie had no doubt that if Aaron and Jackson had not stirred by the time the breakfast was cooked, Simon would take great delight in waking them. He stretched; it was peaceful lying with his eyes shut.

He must have dozed; suddenly Simon was crouching down beside him, not so gently shoving him awake.

"You can't still be tired!" he said.

"You kept me awake," replied Robbie.

"Didn't hear you complaining," smirked Simon.

"You wouldn't have heard anything, you were making so much noise!" returned Robbie quickly. "I just hope the others couldn't hear you too!"

"No chance," said Simon smugly. "You think they weren't all at it too, first night of the holidays! No sign of the sleeping beauties yet then I take it?" He nodded towards the blue van.

"No," confirmed Robbie, struggling to sit up. "Oh leave them be," he called as Simon sprang up and moved purposefully towards the van.

"No way!" laughed Simon. He reached the back door of the blue van in seconds, gripping the handle, twisting it and pulling it open. He leant in, peering into the gloomy interior, then raising one foot onto the floor, hauled himself into the van.

They were sleeping, curled into each other; their sheet pushed low, hardly covering them, leaving Simon in no doubt they were naked. Pausing for a brief moment, he smiled; tangled together in sleep, they were beautiful. But he wasn't going to let sentiment distract him for long from his naturally wicked sense of humour.

"Morning!" he announced loudly, dropping down to sit on the mattress. "Feet," he said pushing against their legs, making room for himself.

"Fuck off, Simon, it's too early," mumbled Aaron, trying to turn away from him.

"It's gone nine," said Simon brightly. "Greg and Robbie are cooking breakfast for us all."

Aaron groaned, turned and glared at him through eyes that were still struggling to open to the morning.

Simon grinned cheerfully back at him. "Spent too much of the night playing and not enough sleeping, did we? Or got a morning stiffy? I could help with that, no need to disturb Sleeping Beauty here!"

"I've not got a stiffy!" protested Aaron.

"And I'm not asleep," said Jackson although his eyes were still closed.

"Well it's time the pair of you were up then," Simon said, "I mean out of here," he hastily amended.

"Oh shut up Simon!" said Aaron, more awake now. "Is there any coffee on the go?" He sat, then twisted onto his knees as he leant across Jackson, searching for a tee shirt or boxers. His back was towards Simon, but the sheet had slipped well down, discarded in his movement, allowing Simon a clear view of his curving buttocks and the dark hair curling across his groin.

Hastily Simon began to back out of the van. He could feel a flush of sudden heat spreading across his face; he was glad that despite the bright day outside, there was only a dim, half light creeping into the van.

"Yeah, I'm sure there's coffee made," he said awkwardly, "I'll go and see."

"We'll be out in a minute," said Aaron, kneeling back, low now, into the mattress.

It was more than a minute before they appeared and although not a long time, it was long enough for Simon's momentary embarrassment to pass. It was enough time for Simon to return to the van and make coffee for everyone as Greg finished the breakfast. Almost in unison, Finn returned and Aaron and Jackson emerged from their van, moving to the couple of blankets spread on the grass and dropping down to sit beside Robbie.

"Where's this coffee then?" called Jackson, "seeing as you woke us with the promise of it,"

"Here you are," said Simon, stepping carefully down from the van with two mugs in each hand, holding them out, two at a time, first to Aaron and Jackson then to Finn and Robbie. Greg followed him with plates piled high with food which he placed carefully in the middle of the blankets, returning quickly to the van to get plates for them all and cutlery.

"Dig in," he said, "I hope it's okay, you can blame Simon for the burnt bacon."

"It's crispy not burnt!" asserted Simon firmly.

"It tastes fine," laughed Jackson tucking into a sandwich he had built on his plate.

For a while the food kept them busy, occupied with eating, conversation was only a few words between appreciative mouthfuls.

"That was great, thanks guys," said Robbie, stretching out on the blanket. "So what's the plan for today? Hit the road?"

There was no rumble of enthusiasm around the group; the sun was already warm and they were full and satisfied, no one felt like moving.

"I was talking to Eric up at the pub just now," began Finn, ignoring Greg's questioning look as he silently echoed the name Eric. "He was telling me that if we go out of the field by the gate opposite the one we came in, then follow the track downhill it comes to a river; he says it's lovely down there. How about having a day here, we could take a picnic down to the river there; that would give us a chance to book somewhere for tomorrow."

"That sounds like a plan to me," said Robbie. "Then tomorrow we could just get an early start before it gets too warm."

"So what have we got to take with us for eating?" asked Aaron.

Finn laughed. "We could do with some fresh bread or rolls or something if you're volunteering to walk up to the shop," he said.

"Yeah, I can do that," agreed Aaron. "Anyone fancy chumming me?"

"I'll come with you," answered Simon, "anything else we need, milk?"

"Yeah, probably," agreed Greg. "Milk, bread or rolls and anything else you can think of."

"And we'll get tidied up here," said Jackson.

It didn't take them long to get organised; Aaron and Simon walked away from their small camp across the field towards the pub. They slipped through the gate into the car park and out into the narrow main street of the village.

The single shop was small but well stocked; they grabbed a basket and quickly found the milk and fresh rolls they wanted. A few other tasty bits found their way into the basket; by the time they made their way to the counter to pay, the basket was quite heavy.

When they got back to the camp, the breakfast dishes had been washed up and the beginnings of a picnic was coming together. Very soon they were ready, carrying between them a picnic that should keep them satisfied for hours and a couple of blankets to sit on.

The track was easy to find; it was wide enough to take a car but clearly no vehicle had been down there in months, years perhaps. The two parallel tracks were still plainly visible but the space between was overgrown, long tufts of grass dotted bright with splashes of colourful wild flowers grew thick. There were occasional trees bordering the path as it curved gently down the hillside until it came to a river meandering slowly in front of them. The track petered out as it crossed the grassy sloping ground leading down to the water. They walked along the bank of the river for a few minutes, quickly the river curved away from the track, a small copse of fine trees creating a delicate screen, a small private enclosure covered in lush grass.

"Here looks good," said Robbie, dropping the rucksack he carried to the ground.

"Here looks splendid!" laughed Greg. He dragged his own rucksack from his back and undoing it, pulled out one of the blankets, quickly spreading it over the grass.

They had soon made themselves comfortable, the blankets spread, their picnic tucked under the shade of a small, scrubby bush and their cans, both juice and lager, cooling in the shallow water at the very edge of the water, the gently lapping waves keeping them cool.

Finn stood, stretching, revelling in the heat on his body, the lush, rich smell of the summer grass overwhelming his sense of smell. He peeled off his tee shirt then slipped his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and pulled them and his boxers down, neatly stepping out of them, leaving him naked.

"What are you doing?" yelped Simon in surprise, looking anywhere but at his naked friend.

"Going in for a splash about," replied Finn easily.

"Well...but..." Simon spluttered awkwardly.

Finn turned his blue eyes on the other man. "Simon, we've got days together, we're all friends, none of us are single and on the pull and I'm sure as hell I haven't got anything you haven't."

"Except a bit of a belly," murmured Greg.

"Yeah, well, maybe," agreed Finn, smiling. He stood for a moment, unashamed.

"Oh fuck it!" exclaimed Jackson jumping up. In seconds he had pulled off his clothes and was speeding down the bank towards the river.

Caught off guard, it took Finn a moment or two to realise what was happening. Yards behind Jackson, he followed him down to the water, splashing in at full speed.

It was cold though not freezing, just cold enough to be a shock and tingle against his warm skin, the chill of it enough to send a dizzying thrill through his crotch, stirring his cock as his body acclimatised to the change in temperature, in sensation. He ducked under the water; it wasn't deep enough to swim properly but deep enough to splash about, a respite from the already warm day.

The river bed seemed to be made up of large smooth rocks, easy to move over, pushing and scrambling through the water. Quickly Finn skimmed and waded his way towards Jackson, his arms steadying himself and splashing at the same time.

Jackson turned, pushed himself backwards, collapsing into the bubbling water laughing!

Almost at once, in a frothing, foaming spume of water, Finn became aware of another body beside him, splashing; suddenly hands, familiar hands, grabbed him from behind, sliding low over his hips under the water, pulling him backwards. He squirmed, twisting into the arms that were now unashamedly beginning to explore the parts of his body that were hidden by the water. He turned further into Greg's arms; unsure what was tickling more, the water or Greg's urgent fingers.

They were all in the water now, even Simon had eventually thrown off his clothes with the last of his embarrassment and was allowing Robbie to chase him, keen to be caught.

Aaron tried to run through the water towards Jackson but it was harder running on the smooth rock than he anticipated and he slid, crashing under the water for a second or two.

Quickly Jackson was beside him, hauling him upwards until he burst back through the surface of the water, coughing, laughing, shaking the river from his eyes as each droplet that clung to his body or glistened in his hair, caught the sun and sparkled.

Jackson couldn't help himself; a surge of desire swept through him, as he looked at Aaron standing naked, emerging from the river, the water lapping at his hips as he tried to shake the river from his eyes and ears.

Jackson plunged through the water towards Aaron; laughing, he put his hands flat on his chest and half pushed half guided him towards the shallower water near the edge of the river. The bank was sloping, a comfortable mix of grass and sand, almost a beach; Jackson pushed Aaron down, their bodies still lapped by the water, hiding them, but only a little.

Jackson covered Aaron's body with his own; he caught his face between his hand and only pausing for a second, taking in the blue eyes burning with lust, with anticipation, bent to kiss him.

His lips tasted of the freshness of the river water; Jackson flicked his tongue between Aaron's teeth, teasingly touching his tongue, pushed against it as they began to dance as the kiss deepened; Aaron kissed Jackson back.

Their lips still locked, Jackson groaned as Aaron's hands began to run over his body. He could feel his cock beginning to stir, growing and hardening as his excitement increased. Beneath him, he could feel Aaron pushing against him, searching for satisfaction.

"We can't," gasped Aaron, breaking their kiss in his need to breathe. "The others..."

Jackson arched his back, raising his head, he looked about him.

"You don't need to worry about them," he chuckled. His brief glance had been enough to show him Simon and Robbie, still in the water but oblivious to anyone but each other as they stood, letting the tumbling water cascade around them as they were entwined and engrossed in their exploration of each other. Beyond them, further up the bank, Jackson could see the tangled bodies of Greg and Finn, clearly caring about nothing but each other for that moment. He watched for a second or two, entranced by the beauty of his friends making love before the body shifting beneath him brought him back to his own waiting lover. "They won't be paying us any attention at all," he said.

"Just now I really don't care," said Aaron, his words coming in short gasps as the feelings centred on his aching cock spread.

The deliciously cool water lapping around them, between them, contrasted with the heat of the sun on their bodies, touching them almost like other fingers, exploring, everywhere.

Reassured, Aaron took hold of Jackson, his fingers encircling his rigid cock; he bent his head, his tongue seeking Jackson's nipple.

As Aaron's tongue flicked across his chest, as his teeth nipped, almost gently, Jackson could swear his nipples were attached by some mysterious, invisible thread to his cock, his balls. The aching need grew, he groaned, pushing himself harder against Aaron, seeking relief. He put his hand to Aaron, his hand beginning to match his lover's movements.

The dark chocolate eyes held the blue, both enjoying watching the play of emotion across the other's face as their hands were busy, the familiar movements they knew would bring satisfaction. Increasing their speed, their grip, the intensity grew and they moved in unison.

"Oh that feels so good," gasped Aaron as Jackson's hands moved ever quicker, splashing through the water, including it as part of the sensation. "Keep going, I'm close Jay, so close." He groaned as Jackson moved slightly, leant forward and captured Aaron's mouth with his own.

In the water, their hands were working urgently now, bringing that desperate relief; they were kissing too, lost in each other, tongues dancing, heightening every sensation. The gentle waves lapping round them, a thousand cool fingers caressing until the water was forgotten in the cascade of clenching sensation spreading outwards from the very centre of their beings as together they tipped over the edge of the precipice.

Aaron pulled back enough to bring Jackson face into focus; he smiled satisfied, giver and receiver.

"That looked hot," Simon's languid voice came from behind them; he had moved from where they had last seen him, now he and Robbie were stretched out on the bank a little way from them.

"Glad you enjoyed the show," grinned Jackson.

"We couldn't see anything," reassured Finn, "except you kissing...and yeah...that looked hot."

Aaron could feel a sudden heat to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the warmth of the sun. He moved forward, sliding under the blessedly cooling water, holding his breath long enough to feel his embarrassment abating.

Breaking through the surface, he shook the shining droplets of water from his face before he caught sight of Jackson grinning at him.

"They were all at it," said Jackson comfortably, "we just went on longer." There was a certain smugness to his voice as he spoke. "Come on, let's brazen it out. And Finn's right, you do look hot!"

Saying nothing more, Jackson scrambled out of the river and made his way up the bank, facing the frank stares and admiring glances of his friends; he knew he looked good, his muscles toned and he felt confident under their appraising eyes.

They were all still naked, all except Finn, the fairest of them; he had pulled his shorts on and Greg was slowly rubbing suntan cream over his back and shoulders.

Aaron followed quickly behind Jackson, not fully comfortable yet in his nakedness. At first he tried not to look, to stare at his friends, but he couldn't help himself, his eyes were drawn to them, flicking over their bodies, their chests, lower...he couldn't not look...his eyes moved quickly, flashing over the other men, at their cocks, all lying peaceful and satisfied, all beautiful.

"You could have brought the beers up with you," chastised Simon cheerfully.

"Oh! Okay, I'll get them," said Aaron, wondering if he could quickly pull on his shorts before he got them.

"Good," replied Simon, "then we can all get a look at your cute baby boy arse! Ouch!"

The sound of Robbie's hand connecting sharply with Simon's arm drew his attention back to his boyfriend.

"Stop teasing him," laughed Robbie.

"I can't help it, he's got a nice body; I'm a slut, what can I say!" protested Simon. "Besides, he was looking too!"

"I'm sure we've all been looking," added Finn helpfully, "we might as well stop pretending we haven't!"

For the second time he stood and dropped his shorts.

"Look all you want," he said, neatly kicking the shorts aside. He stretched, sliding his hands sensuously up his chest, through his hair, drying now to a mane of tight blond curls. He kept his eyes closed for a moment; he could feel their combined gaze roaming over him, a smile touched his lips.

Greg stood up and slipped his arm around his boyfriend.

"You are such a show off," he laughed, hugging him.

"But you love me," said Finn smugly.

"I do," agreed Greg from the shelter of his arm.

Jackson stood and caught Aaron's hand, turning him back towards the group. At the same time Simon and Robbie scrambled to their feet; they too stood hand in hand, completing the circle. For a few seconds no one moved, only their eyes drinking in their nakedness.

"Right! Now that's over, perhaps someone could get the beers!" said Greg matter of factly.

His words broke the spell and there was a flurry of movement as they all found comfortable places to stretch out in the sun.

Greg dragged his rucksack towards himself; rummaging inside, he pulled out the well used book that Eric, the bar man, had given him the night before.

"I found a few possible sites," he said. "I've marked them in pencil, but that's the one I really fancy, Little Hoolet Farm." He passed the book across to Robbie and Simon, pointing out his own favourites.

For a few minutes the book passed between them as they discussed the merits of each site, where they thought they might like to go.

Eventually, decision made, Greg wandered a few yards away from the rest of his friends, away from the distraction of their chatter and laughter. It didn't take long, he was surprised how easy it was, or maybe they were just lucky.

"Right," he said returning to sit beside Finn. "We've got four nights at Little Hoolet Farm - I just love that name - then we'll drop down to the south coast and spend another four nights there before we head right down towards Lands End. I've just booked a couple of nights there at the moment. Hope that's ok for everyone?"

"Sounds good to me," said Robbie. Around him, the others nodded.

The small clearing was warm and seemed almost airless as the day progressed, as the sun reached its zenith. It was a perfect day to be lazy, to slide from sunbathing on the bank into the river, into the water that felt freezing in sudden contact with hot, sun baked skin. It was a perfect day for couples to take an occasional short stroll away from their friends, to find a sheltered spot, hidden by a convenient bush and to make slow and sensuous love. It was the perfect start to a holiday.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The sun had lost only a little of its heat as they made their way back up the steady incline towards the field where they were camped. They were tired, but it was the good tiredness of fresh air and the day spent out of doors.

"Shall we just have tea at the pub?" suggested Robbie as they came in site of the three vans. "There's not a lot left otherwise; we could do with finding a supermarket as well tomorrow and stocking up," he continued.

"I think that's an excellent idea," said Finn, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I can't be bothered scrabbling about with bits and pieces to make tea when I bet they do a good fish and chips up there!"

The agreement was unanimous and in a very short time they had deposited their stuff, thrown out the rubbish brought back with them, hung wet towels and clothes to dry and were crossing the field in the direction of the pub.

It was hardly late but already many of the tables in the beer garden were full. Having spent the day outside, they selected one of the tables inside the old bar, enjoying the ambiance created by the wood panelling and low ceilings. Eric, the barman from the previous evening was again behind the bar.

"Evening guys," he said cheerfully, bringing menus to the table. "Lagers all round is it?" he asked. "How did you get on with the book?" He directed his question toward Greg.

"Yeah, good thanks," replied Greg. "We're booked into a couple of places; I'll drop it back in to you tomorrow, there are a few more numbers I want to put into my phone."

"No worries, I'll get your drinks while you decide on your meals," he smiled round at Greg, at them all.

"He fancies you!" whispered Simon delightedly.

"Oh shut up!" exclaimed Greg, a flush of colour unexpectedly flooding over his face. "Don't be silly!"

"I'm not! He so does!" grinned Simon

"Well he can fancy you all he likes," laughed Finn, "but he can't have you!" Under the table, Finn put his hand on Greg's thigh; for a second, two, their eyes met and locked, reaffirming their love and commitment to each other.

The evening passed quickly; the food was good, the bar busy enough to have a lively atmosphere without being uncomfortably crowded. The hours flew easily by as they ate together, talked in a conversation that never flagged.

It was after eleven before they left the bar and made their way back across the field to their little camp.

"It's been a great day," said Robbie as they came to the vans. He stood close beside Simon, his arm resting comfortably around his waist. "Are we just gonna make an early start tomorrow? Not bother with breakfast, get something on the way?"

"How early?" asked Aaron suspiciously.

"Eight?" suggested Finn, "ish...nine?" He added, seeing the look on Aaron's face.

"That's better," agreed Aaron.

"That's fine," said Jackson quickly.

"Right, that's sorted then," said Robbie. "We'll see you in the morning then, night guys!"

The three couples parted, going to their own vans, each ending their day, each beginning their night.

...

Aaron opened his eyes; it was daylight although he had no idea of the time, he felt wide awake, utterly refreshed, every muscle in his body relaxed yet sparkling with energy, ready to begin the day. He could get used to being on holiday! He looked to one side; Jackson was still sleeping soundly. Aaron nudged him, gently then a second time, not quite so gently.

"Fuck off," muttered Jackson, it's too early."

"What time is it?" asked Aaron, sitting up. "Is it nine yet? I'm surprised Simon hasn't been hammering on the side of the van."

Jackson lifted his arm, untangling it from the sheet that had been their only covering during the warm night. He held his hand, his wrist, his watch towards Aaron, showing him the time.

"Half past six!" exclaimed Aaron, "it's still the middle of the night!"

"Well go back to sleep then," muttered Jackson, trying to bury his head deeper into the pillow and reposition the sheet over his shoulder.

"We could..." began Aaron.

"No," Jackson interrupted him, "it's too early for that. Besides, didn't you get enough last night?"

"I didn't mean that," said Aaron sounding aggrieved. "Although now you mentioned it, we could..." He stopped speaking as Jackson opened one eye and peered at him. "I was going to say we could get up, get coffee, be ready to leave; surprise the others."

"At six thirty in the morning?" said Jackson incredulously.

"Oh," said Aaron flatly. "Well go back to sleep then."

"But I'm awake now," said Jackson. He was silent for a moment. "Come here! I need to skelp that bare arse of yours; show you what happens to people who wake me up at six thirty in the morning when we're on holiday!"

As he was speaking, before Aaron realised what was happening, Jackson spun wriggling round on the mattress, sliding on top of Aaron, grabbing him, his fingers moving rapidly over his body, grasping, holding, teasing, tickling. In seconds they were a writhing, breathless tangle of bare limbs and naked bodies wrapped up in each other, rolling, first one on top then the other; no winner, no loser, only one inevitable ending.

...

"I need a shower," said Aaron, his breathing slowly returning to normal as he lay sprawled on the mattress. He looked at Jackson lying next to him. "Come with me," he said, invitation in his voice. "It would save time," he added, persuasive now, "it's still early enough."

"That shower is tiny!" protested Jackson.

"Well we'll have to stand close together then," teased Aaron. "Please," he added.

Jackson looked at Aaron, at his blue eyes gazing down at him, pleading, hopeful, waiting for his reply. He sighed; he knew he couldn't resist those eyes.

"Okay, go on then," he rolled over and sat up. "Find me some shorts to put on."

Aaron grinned at him, delighted, then jumped to scrabble about in their discarded dirty clothes for something to get them decently across the field and car park to the facilities at the rear of the pub.

There was movement about their small camp by the time they got back; Finn was sitting on the step of his van, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands. He squinted into the sunshine, watching their approach across the field.

"I banged on the van to see if you wanted coffee," he said.

"We went for a shower," said Aaron.

"You were ages," said Finn, "you must have been very dirty boys," he smirked.

"Oh we were," agreed Jackson comfortably, grinning at his friend.

They did no more than have coffee before they made ready to leave; surprising themselves by being on the road before nine. Greg had shown them on the map where they were heading and given them a scribbled note of the directions; first making their way back to the motorway to travel further south and west, before they made their way closer to the coast.

The motorway ate up the miles, countryside flashing past, roads and junctions counting down.

"Give Greg a phone," Aaron said, "see what we're doing about breakfast or lunch or whatever it is now," he said. "I could do with a pee too," he added.

Jackson reached for his phone lying on the dashboard and quickly scrolled to Greg's number. He spoke for a few minutes before hanging up.

"They'll check the map and call us back in a few minutes," reported Jackson. "You ok with that or d'you need to stop as soon as?"

"So long as it's not too long," said Aaron, "I'll be fine."

Less than five minutes had passed before Finn - Greg was driving - phoned them back to tell them there were services just a few miles ahead as the motorway ended and became an 'A' road.

"Well done Greg!" grinned Simon as he sat down a short while later with a substantial plate of food in front of him. "This is great!"

"Hey!" exclaimed Finn, "I can read a map as well as he can, I saw the services were here!"

"Well done Finn then," Simon corrected himself, cheekily blowing Finn a kiss across the table.

"Behave," grinned Finn, a quick flush of pink colouring his fair cheeks.

"Nope!" declared Simon. "I have to behave myself enough at work during term time; I'm on holiday now and am going to behave absolutely disgracefully!" He beamed triumphantly round at his friends.

"Oh god," groaned Robbie from his place next to him. "Its' just as well you're all mouth and no trousers!"

"You know exactly what I've got in my trousers," replied Simon. "Or to be more exact, in my shorts today." He grabbed Robbie's hand and slapped it on his leg, pushing it under his shorts, up his bare thigh, enjoying the thrill of excitement that flashed through his groin.

"How much further have we to go?" asked Aaron between mouthfuls.

"A good couple of hours" replied Greg, "maybe more if the traffic is heavy. But we've made good time down the motorway. I said it would probably be late afternoon before we arrive anyway."

"We could do with stopping at a supermarket before we get there," said Robbie, "our supplies are pretty low."

"There are a couple of towns on our way," said Finn, "there'll likely be somewhere to stop; an out of town shopping centre or something."

It was late afternoon before they arrived at Little Hoolet Farm, or as the sign at the end of the drive declared, 'Little Hoolet Cider Orchard and Press'. The drive led gently up a slight hill between the apple trees, heavy with fruit before levelling out by a house, long and low and built of warm red bricks. Opposite were a matching range of buildings but these were obviously some of the working buildings of the farm. One building supported a notice declaring it the reception. Greg seemed to be a long time checking them in; Aaron and Jackson, arriving a few minutes after the others, had drawn up besides the other two vans before he reappeared. Beside him, an older man, well-worn working jeans slung low under his ample belly covered with a brightly unflattering vest top. But he looked cheerful, chatting to Greg as they walked towards the vans.

"Ah lads," he said, his voice a deep country burr. "You are all lads, yes? I'm Cliff, welcome to Little Hoolet. I was telling Greg here, if you go on through the trees then turn left, I've put you in the lower field, less noise from the kids," he chuckled cheerfully as he spoke. "There's a few vans and tents down there already, but they're nice folks." He pointed in the direction they had to take.

"Now'" he continued, "if you come over to the sheds in the evening, any time after eight thirty, we've a little tasting session, open to anyone as is staying at the farm; usually makes for a good night."

"That sounds good," said Robbie; he had got out of his van, had come round to join in the conversation.

"It is if you like cider," agreed Cliff happily. "Well I'll leave you to get settled and maybe see you later."

They made their way slowly down the track as Cliff had indicated, easily finding the camping area. It was a large field, the grass short but not overly manicured and with a number of mature trees and bushed scattered throughout, creating green rooms and garden-like spaces. There were probably ten or twelve tents and caravans already there, and place markers for electric hook ups already taken by camper vans that must be out for the day. But there was still plenty of space, room for them to choose a place a distance from other holiday makers and to have a degree of privacy afforded by the casual planting.

They drove carefully, following the tracks across the camp site, stopping once as Greg, in the lead van, stopped while Finn ran between the other two vans, gathering their thoughts on exactly where they wanted to park.

By general agreement, they drove as far from the other campers as they could and as before, parked in a semi circle, creating their own private enclosure.

"Hey! This is nice!" said Aaron, jumping out of their van and looking about him. The camp site was on a slight rise, allowing them a view over the surrounding countryside as it dropped gently away. Behind them, lush fields of ripening crops were dotted on farther slopes. In another direction spread the Little Hoolet orchards while in front of them, perhaps a mile or two distant, they could see the sea. A little further to the left, even from this distance clearly visible against the skyline, stood ruins outlined against the sea

"What's that?" continued Aaron, "a castle?"

"King Arthur's Castle," said Greg. "Or at least, where legend says he was born and from where Merlin took him when he was only hours old and his mother dying."

"It's open for visitors," added Finn, "we can go there tomorrow."

"Sounds good," said Aaron. "What are we doing about something to eat tonight?"

"You volunteering to cook?" laughed Greg.

"Oh please no!" exclaimed Simon, "Aaron can't cook!"

"I can so!" retorted Aaron hotly. "My pasta is pretty damned tasty!"

"But repetitive, sweetheart," teased Simon.

"Don't worry," laughed Greg. "I'll cook if someone gives me a hand."

"I will," said Jackson.

"Right!" Greg stood up. "I suppose since you mentioned food that means you're hungry?" He smiled at Aaron. "C'mon Jackson, your boy needs to keep his strength up, let's find something to feed him on or you'll be out of luck tonight! Somebody crack open the beers, eh?"

In a little over an hour the food was ready. In the evening warmth, they spread a couple of blankets on the grass in front of the vans and sat there, enjoying a leisurely meal.

"That was so good," said Robbie, rolling backwards to lie on the blanket. "I am absolutely stuffed. Thanks guys."

"You're welcome," replied Greg beginning to gather up the plates.

"Leave that," said Finn. "Or at least I'll get the plates and sort them later." He took the dishes already gathered from Greg's hands. "Are we gonna go to this cider tasting or what? What d'you reckon guys?" He looked around at his friends.

"Be rude not too," said Simon cheerfully. "What's his name, Cliff, more or less invited us. What time is it?"

"Just after eight," replied Jackson, glancing at his watch. "Time enough yet. Anyone want coffee?"

_Okay, so this chapter ended rather abruptly but when it was written it just continued straight on into the next, but that ended up far too long, so I rather inelegantly split them and you'll just have to wait until tomorrow for the next chapter!_

_Anyway, I must just say thanks for all your wonderful reviews and the great welcome back, you really do inspire me so much and I'm glad you seem pleased that the story is continuing. And to those of you who read but don't review, hi and thanks for reading!_

_G. x_


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

It was nearer nine o'clock before they began to wander back across the camp site towards the farm buildings. There were quite a number of other tents, caravans and camper vans on the site but with enough space between them and a sense of privacy from the carefully random planting of trees and bushes that there was no sense of overcrowding or being too close to the neighbouring visitors.

"You off to the cider tasting, lads?"

A man called to them from his seat outside a large tent.

"We thought we would," called back Greg. "Is is a good night? What about yourself, are you going?"

"Oh definitely," the man replied. "It's a great night, Cliff, him and his wife, great hosts." He stood and took a step or two towards them, holding out his hand. "I'm just waiting for my girls to get their finery on. I'm Hugh, down from Somerset."

Before any one could say anything more, in a burst of giggling, squealing excitement, two small girls erupted from the tent. No more than six or seven, they rushed out of the tent like two small hurricanes. Two small flamed haired hurricanes that appeared identical in every way.

The sight of the group of young men talking to their father caused them hardly a second's pause.

"Hello!" piped up one, "I'm Georgina!"

"I'm Julianne," said the second, dancing around, "but you won't be able to tell us apart. Sometimes even mum and dad can't tell us apart!"

"I bet that's fun," smiled Finn, crouching down until he was level with them. "I'm Finn, this is Greg," he indicated the man beside him before solemnly introducing Robbie and Simon, Jackson and Aaron.

"Are you going to the party?" asked Georgina. Or Julianne.

"Yes," replied Finn, "are you going?"

"Yes!" squealed the two excited little girls in unison. "We're just waiting for mummy," continued Julianne. Or Georgina

"We drink cider at the party," announced one of the twins, "lots of it!"

"And Cliff puts little coloured umbrellas in it for us," added the second twin.

"It's just apple juice," said their father hurriedly, "Cliff does it fancy for all the kids, but honestly, it's just juice. Get you hung, they would!" He laughed awkwardly.

"I bet!" agreed Finn. "Looks like you've got your work cut out with them!"

"I have," beamed Hugh, obviously delighted with his girls.

"Is he your boyfriend?" asked one of the twins brightly, looking from Finn to Greg.

"Oh I'm so sorry," groaned Hugh in horror. "It's their uncle, he's gay and he's just introduced them to his new boyfriend, so now they just think everyone...it's so embarrassing!"

"Hey don't worry," laughed Finn, "cos actually he is. "So what d'you think girls?" he asked, bending to the two small girls again. "D'you think he's good looking? Shall I keep him?"

The two little girls erupted into giggles and danced around the adults. "Yes! Yes!" they squealed over and over in their excitement.

"My goodness! What a lot of noise there is out here!" An older version of the twins came out of the tent. "I hope you are not being a nuisance girls?"

Immediately there was an outburst of squealing denials; hushing the girls, Hugh and Finn tried to repeat the introductions, an almost impossible task.

As a group, they began to move, walking in the direction of the farm buildings. Other people were heading in the same direction from other parts of the camp site.

Georgina and Julianne danced ahead of them, sure of their direction. They led them to a large barn, long and low roofed. They could hear the sound of voices, of laughter, when they were still some distance away.

"Sounds lively," commented Simon as they got closer.

"Oh it is," laughed Hugh. "It's always a good night; Cliff's a generous host, you never pay a penny, however many evenings you come over."

"How does he manage that financially then?" asked Robbie, puzzled.

"Well, the thing you gotta understand about Cliff," said Hugh, "is that he loves his cider, passionate about it, he is. And each night, it really is a tasting; he'll have two or three different ciders for you to compare, different apples, sweet or dry, mature or young; sometimes he'll have a pear night where it's all pear ciders to try. And he really does expect everyone to try them and think about it; he's interested in what you have to say about his cider. And no one ever abuses his hospitality, any newcomers that try, the old hands soon put them right!" laughed Hugh.

"But it must cost him a fortune!" exclaimed Robbie.

"Most folk buy a deal of it to take away with them at the end of their holidays, it's that good," grinned Hugh. He pushed open the door.

It was dim inside the barn, there were only a few windows and they were long and narrow, running just under the roof, their light giving a patchwork effect across the room. Across one of the narrower ends of the building a rough wooden bar had been built, around the sides were a few scattered wooden tables and a number of chairs, in the spaces between them, bales of hay or straw were carefully stacked making seats, or exciting, fragrant climbing frames for the younger guests.

"Wow!" exclaimed Aaron, as he came into the barn, "this is brilliant!"

While not by any means full, the barn had a decent number of people already in it. Unable to contain their excitement, the two small girls broke away from their parents and sped towards the bar; dancing off again seconds later, exotically decorated plastic glasses of juice in their hands, to join their friends on top of a tall stack of bales.

"Welcome, welcome!" Cliff appeared at Robbie's side. "I'm glad you came over," he smiled broadly around at them all. "I see you've met Hugh and Sally, old regulars, they are! Now come over to the bar and I'll show you the ciders we have tonight."

He led them over to the rough bar and for a few minutes talked informatively about his ciders, before leaving them with glasses in hand, the first cider to taste of the evening.

With Cliff seeing to other guests, Hugh returned to their side, introducing them to quite a few of the tasters, all obviously regulars like himself. But the groups, the little knots of people were fluid, moving and changing as the evening wore on, as the newcomers got the hang of it. Cliff moved between them all, genial and chatty, a master of ceremonies, directing the evening.

It was easy to mingle, the cider an easy conversation opener; holidays, the weather, where folk had come from naturally following. From across the room, Jackson could see Aaron and Finn talking to an older man; from the animation in Aaron's face, Jackson suspected their conversation had moved from cider to cars. Simon was sitting on the stack of bales, a number of the younger folk surrounding him; sometimes Jackson found it hard to remember he was a teacher, it wasn't like he ever saw him at his work, they all seemed very deep in conversation anyway. He wandered over to where Robbie and Greg stood at the bar talking to a dark haired woman rather older than themselves.

"This is Janice, Cliff's wife," said Greg.

"Pleased to meet you," said Jackson, shaking hands.

"Janice was just telling us you can walk to that castle we saw as we came in," said Robbie. "Apparently that's only one tower we saw, there's more of it, partly on the cliffs and part on a little island that you reach by a bridge. You fancy that tomorrow?"

"Sounds good," grinned Jackson.

"And the village is nice too," added Janice. "With all the King Arthur and Merlin stuff up at the castle it's attracted quite a few interesting shops, you know, magic and incense and tarot cards as well as your ordinary souvenir shop!"

"That'll suit Jackson," laughed Robbie, he loves a good souvenir shop!"

"But I never buy anything," protested Jackson, "well not often," he amended.

Suddenly the first, hesitant screeching of a fiddle cut through the air.

"You boys gonna join in the dancing?" asked Janice. "Good old fashioned country dances."

"I haven't done anything like that since I was at school," laughed Robbie, "I wouldn't be able to remember a step."

"Don't worry, you'll soon pick it up!" Scurrying round from behind the bar, she grabbed his hand."

The first haltering notes had changed into a rapid fire tune, drawing people into the open space in the middle of the room.

"Look!" exclaimed Greg. He pointed across the room; Georgina and Julianne were dancing round Finn, each clutching a hand, pulling him towards the dance floor.

Already the floor was filling up; Jackson and Greg watched as Finn, towering over his two small hijackers, was pulled enthusiastically into the crowd. Glancing up, he saw their laughing faces, he grinned back, awkwardly waving whilst still holding one small hand. He bent to speak to the twins.

Seconds later, one of the small red heads, Julianne or Georgina, Greg couldn't tell, but one of them was dancing at his side, excitedly pulling at his hand.

"Come and dance, Greg," the twin squealed, "Finn said come and dance with us, please. Pleeeease."

Greg looked down at the small excited face before him. He was a teacher, he was on his holidays, he could say no, couldn't he? He could always refuse the fifth and sixth form when they wanted him to agree to some mad-cap scheme of theirs couldn't he. So he could refuse Georgina. Or Julianne.

"Come on then," he said, "let's go and show the others how it's done!"

...

"Oh that was a great evening!" exclaimed Finn several hours later as they were making their way back towards their vans. "Were you okay with us all abandoning you to the dancing Aaron?"

"Oh absolutely," laughed Aaron. "I can just about cope with shuffling around at Bar West on disco night; that was just not my thing at all. I was much happier getting the evidence to bribe you all with later." He waved his phone at them all.

"Anyone want coffee?" asked Robbie.

"Dunno about coffee," replied Simon, "but I'm kinda hungry. Anyone else fancy anything?"

"Well if you thinking about making some toasted cheese, I'd be up for that," said Aaron.

"And you do make such good toasted cheese, Robbie" added Jackson, skipping neatly sideways as Robbie went to give him a playful shove.

"Oh yes! Toasted cheese!" Finn joined in the general clamour.

"Okay, okay, I give in," laughed Robbie. "Give me a few minutes." He unlocked the door of the van he shared with Simon, flicked on the lights, then the mini grill.

It took longer than normal but it didn't seem to matter; the evening was warm, it was pleasant to sit gathered at the door of the van, smelling the toast, the cheese melting, their taste buds tingling in anticipation of the midnight snack.

Eventually he stood, leaning over Simon, who sat blocking the doorway and passed out two large plates piled high with slice upon slice of slice of toasted cheese.

"You made enough," commented Simon, as Robbie handed him first one plate, then the second.

"I know what you lot are like," replied Robbie. "Besides, if you leave any, you can have it for breakfast - cold!"

"No way," said Finn, helping himself to two slices, biting heartily. "Cold toasted cheese would just be wrong. They'll be none left anyway," he predicted confidently.

"So, a lazy morning tomorrow, then find our way to this castle in the afternoon?" asked Greg.

"We'll see you at lunch time then," grinned Aaron, flashing a cheeky glance at Jackson.

"Slut," murmured Simon amiably.

"Yep!" agreed Aaron, "but he's got such a cute arse, can you blame me?"

Everyone laughed.

"Who said you're getting any?" Jackson asked Aaron, teasing him.

Aaron pulled a face; he pouted, looked down but peered up through the dark lashes fringing his eyes at Jackson. "I'll suck your cock just the way you like it," he said, pretending to plead.

"Oh too much information, you two!" exclaimed Robbie. "Off to bed with the pair of you; you'll be giving Simon ideas!"

"Oh don't worry, I've plenty of ideas of my own," Simon chipped in.

"I bet you have," laughed Aaron. He stood up then held out his hand to pull Jackson to his feet, dragging him up then pulling him close to his side. "See you tomorrow," he said.

"Just don't make that old van shake too much," called Simon as they began to move away.

"It'll be the earth moving," called back Aaron.

"Night guys," called Jackson.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

The days were long and sunny, kind weather smiling down on them, days spent sunbathing, swimming in warm water that lapped long sandy beaches in sheltered coves. Days spent wandering around romantic ruined castles, wandering through the narrow lanes of picture perfect villages lined with gift shops purveying the tacky and tawdry, the handmade crafts, the unique paintings. Days spent exploring unknown countryside; finding secluded bays and quaint harbours.

The evenings were sociable; the cider tasting surprisingly interesting with their knowledgeable host, the company was lively, friendly, the dancing hectic.

The nights were hot; the heat of the day barely abating, the heat possessing their bodies, their souls, never abating but lustily satisfied over and again.

So far the holiday was perfect, a holiday that dreams and memories were made of.

...

"Perhaps I should have booked longer here," moaned Greg into his pillow. "What if the next site is awful? This has been so good!"

"It'll be fine," mumbled Finn reassuringly. He was standing at the small kitchen sink, scrubbing his teeth.

"Maybe we should just stay here a few more days," replied Greg. He was lying face down on the bed, the sheet barely covering him.

"What's got into you?" asked Finn, "you were quite happy with the site when you booked it." He turned to face Greg, he was naked, his fair skin glowing gold after days in the sun, only the skin around his hips still pale.

"Oh nothing," said Greg, "I just want it to be as good as this place."

A thump on the door seconds before it opened interrupted them.

"You guys awake," Simon called out even as he climbed into the van.

"If we weren't before we would be now," laughed Finn. I'm just going over for a shower."

"Hope you're gonna put something on first," said Greg. "Though dressed like that you'd give a lot of the lady campers something to smile about."

"And maybe some of the men too," smirked Simon.

"Not everyone's a total perv like you though," laughed Finn.

"What can I say," shrugged Simon, "you standing there butt naked – a guy's gotta look!"

"Be rude not to," said Greg.

"Exactly!" agreed Simon. "And talking of meat, can I get the bacon from your fridge, Robbie's gonna start breakfast."

"I'm not sure I like you comparing my manhood to a few slices of streaky bacon," said Finn sounding rather aggrieved as he looked down at himself, thrusting his hips forward to see himself better.

"Oh go away and get your shower," laughed Greg, fishing a pair of shorts from under the cover and throwing them at Finn.

"Okay," said Finn, stepping into his shorts. "Help yourself to the bacon Simon, top shelf."

He could smell the frying bacon as he returned to the vans a short while later; somehow it tasted so much better when they ate outside. Simon, Aaron and Jackson were laying on their old picnic blankets, pouring over a map. He dropped down beside them, dumping his towel and shower gel beside him.

"Greg reckons it won't take us much more than a couple of hours to get to down there," Jackson said, his finger following a road across the map. "We thought about driving a bit then finding a beach to spend the day on, maybe here, or here." He pointed to a couple of spots on the map.

"Yeah, sounds good," said Finn. "I can't believe how lucky we've been with the weather; we won't know what to do with ourselves if it starts to rain."

"Oi you! Don't tempt fate!" exclaimed Aaron in mock horror, rolling onto his back, stretching, revelling in the morning sun. "It's not gonna rain, nothing's gonna spoil this holiday!"

"Of course not," agreed Finn heartily. He stood up, moved to the door of Robbie's van and peered in. "Where's this breakfast guys, I'm starving!"

In less than an hour they were on the road, leaving Little Hoolet Farm behind them. It was still early but the roads were already busy, it seemed to take far longer than they anticipated, travelling even a few miles, but at last they saw signs for the small coastal village where they planned to spend the day. Then more signs directed them to a large car park on the edge of the village, a village it seemed where only residents could enter in their cars. But it didn't matter, nothing mattered because the sun was still shining and the company was still good.

They were lucky finding places to park; thirty minutes later and they probably wouldn't have been so lucky. Gathering everything they needed for an afternoon swimming, sunbathing and being supremely lazy, they followed the signs for the short walk to the beach.

"I'm just popping to the shop for a paper," called Aaron, veering away from the others. "I'll catch up with you at the beach." He hitched the long loose shorts that were all he was wearing higher on his narrow hips, feeling quickly in his pocket, checking he still had the fiver he had taken from his wallet earlier. "Anybody want anything?" he called back over his shoulder.

A general chorus of "no's" followed him as he drew further away from the others and strode away up the steep hill towards the small shop that appeared to sell everything from newspapers to flip flops to food and ice cream, although it was too early for an ice cream yet, thought Aaron as he approached the shop; no doubt Simon would suggest it later.

Heading in the opposite direction, Jackson followed Finn and Greg, Simon and Robbie down the lane towards the beach, avoiding the occasional gift shop dotted along the lane that lead towards the shore. He would explore them later with Aaron; he smiled to himself, imagining the resigned look on Aaron's face as he dragged him into each one of them, smiling more as he knew he wouldn't complain, would just indulge him.

As they walked down through the narrow streets, they found themselves following several people with the same idea, as loaded as they were with all the things they would need for their day on the beach. . The beach itself was long and narrow; a sheltered bay surrounded by low cliffs. At the far end a few small boats were anchored just off shore, bobbing gently against the swell of the waves.

Walking a little way along the beach, but not far enough that they wouldn't be able to see Aaron when he walked down the path that led from the village, they picked a spot with the shelter of rocks behind them; spreading blankets on the sand and stowing the bags with food for the day in a patch of shade.

The sun was already hot, the sand scorching even through their old beach blankets. Finn dropped down onto the one he had spread with Greg and shrugged his small rucksack off his shoulders. Burrowing deep into it he pulled out a large bottle of suntan lotion and threw it to Greg, smiling as he caught it deftly, before pulling off the white vest tee shirt he was wearing and turning his back towards Greg, waiting for him to start rubbing the protective liquid over his back.

"Skinny dipping anyone?" asked Simon.

"I don't think so!" laughed Jackson, making himself comfortable. "You'll get us arrested!" He lay down on his stomach facing the direction Aaron should appear from in a few minutes.

"Anyone else?" asked Greg, offering up the bottle of suntan lotion.

"Go on then," replied Jackson, inching towards him a little; closing his eyes to the rhythmic movement of the other man's hands on his back.

The gentle noise of the sunny day drifted around them; swimmers, other sunbathers called and laughed to each other but the warm air took the sounds of summer fun and dissipated it into the atmosphere, disturbing no one. Across the bay, boats moved; yachts with their graceful sails, small fishing boats chugging from the picturesque harbours dotted along the coastline out to fish in the deeper waters or returning with their catch.

Relaxed after Greg's fingers had finished rubbing in the suntan lotion, Jackson dozed, barely aware of Finn and Greg whispering huskily to each other beside him as they lay close together, discreetly kissing, trying not to draw attention to themselves, touching while trying to hide the touches. Relishing the joy of the moment, Robbie and Simon were splashing in and out of the waves that rolled gently in and out at the shore.

Time drifted by; it wasn't that they had forgotten that Aaron was only going to the shop for a paper; more that their perception of time itself had became flawed, unreliable.

The sound of sirens wailing repeatedly in the distance was only background noise against the buzzing heat of the day.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Aaron wandered into the shop; it seemed dark inside after the brightness of the sunshine, but in contrast to the heat outside, it was pleasantly cool. He had picked up a newspaper from the rack at the door, but trailed up each aisle, leisurely browsing, wondering if there was anything he could buy as a treat for Jackson.

The shop was almost empty; a young woman, looking bored, turned the pages of a magazine as she stood waiting for customers behind the counter, only glancing occasionally as the few shoppers crossed her line of vision or interrupted her reading, to pay for their goods.

Aaron was making his way towards the counter; a sudden flurry of movement behind him, by the door drew his attention. He almost turned.

The door slammed shut. A voice barked instructions.

"Do as you're told! Keep quiet and no one will get hurt. On the ground, all of you!"

From the corner of his eye, Aaron was aware that the few other people who had been in the shop were hurrying to obey.

"Down!" the voice barked again; sharply this time, close behind him. Something jabbed hard into his back, hurrying his movements. Something cold, something rigid, something that could only have been …

He felt sweat suddenly begin to prickle uncomfortably down the length of his spine as he dropped to his knees; trying to escape from the barrel of the gun pressed against his skin.

They were moving now, at least four of them; their feet crossing his line of vision as they went towards the front of the shop, behind the counter. He heard a squeal, a sharp, gasped intake of breath; the sound of a thud, a thump!

Tentatively he raised his head slightly; pausing, a little higher, higher again.

"Keep still!" A different voice snapped the order close behind him, punctuating the words with a kick, hard and vicious, to his side.

With his breath forced unexpectedly from his body, Aaron fought painfully for air even as he moved his hand to clutch at his side, bracing himself against the agony.

He lay for a moment, listening. He could hear the mumble of voices, sometimes a scared wordless sound of protest reached him from the cashier. Keeping his head close to the ground, he tried to shuffled his body first one way, then the other; struggling to see if he could see any other customers close to him.

"No! Please no!" The sobbing words, full of fear, were suddenly clear before disintegrating into a wordless scream.

He didn't think! Sense, conscious thought left him; he was on his feet, lurching towards the sound; he needed to stop the screams!

He didn't know if anyone else in the shop was moving to help him; he didn't care, all his focus was on getting to the front of the shop, stopping them; stopping the screams.

He didn't see the movement of the masked man. Knew nothing until his arm was caught, his shoulder wrenched violently backwards, halting him.

"Oh no you don't!" a voice exclaimed.

Pulled off balance, Aaron lashed out, his free arm making contact with the arms trying to restrain him, his fingers trying to find a grip on tee-shirt, dig into skin, into anything. Twisting sharply, he caught his leg around his assailant's leg, hauled until they both tumbled sprawling to the floor and rolled, each lunging, struggling to gain a lasting hold on the other.

Breathless with the effort, at last Aaron's fingers locked onto something soft, some unresisting material. He pulled.

It had been only seconds; rough, violent seconds of struggle. But now other hands joined the battle to subdue him.

Only he pulled and the mask came away in his hands.

"Shit!" the voice, no longer faceless, exclaimed as his hands, and those of the second thief finally controlled Aaron, slamming him roughly, face down, into the floor.

"Shit! He's seen me; fucking seen my face! I should fucking kill him!"

"I should fucking kill you!" A new voice, snarling with anger, came from the front of the shop. "Letting him get the better of you! This is a right fuck up! Now come on. And bring him with you!"

Four hands gripped him then, wrenching his arms behind his back, dragging him up from the floor, propelling him forward.

It had all been so quick; to jump up, to fight had been instinctive, no time for thought or fear. As he was dragged towards the door Aaron felt a wave of panic sweep through him; this was real, this was serious.

He began to struggle against the hands that held him, to yell, to draw attention to the shop!

He didn't see the blow to his head coming.

….

He felt sick; waves of nausea washing over him as the blackness retreated. He breathed, coughed, choked and realized he was gagged; he could taste the dirty cloth that was keeping him silent. He opened his eyes but didn't attempt to move, assessing his surroundings. He was lying on the floor of a van; a van that stank of fish; he realised there were dirty nets lying around him, under him, even old buckets, still covered with god knows what, rolling round the van.

The sickness, the dizziness was retreating a little now; he tried to move. And couldn't! He was tied up; his arms and legs restrained. He began to struggle, to test the tightness of his bonds as he attempted to sit up.

"Keep still!" The words were accompanied by a sharp kick, pushing him roughly back to the floor of the van.

Aaron lay still, catching his breath; this couldn't be real! Shit! He had only left the others to get a paper; if only he had stayed with them, just gone straight to the beach! Had they missed him? Had they realized he had been gone longer than he should have been, just getting a paper? He lay still, trying to think, needing a plan.

He had no idea how long he had been unconscious; how much time had passed, how far they had travelled, but suddenly the van stopped and he heard the opening and slamming of the front doors, then seconds later the back doors of the van opened.

The man who had been in the back with him jumped out and closed the doors behind him, but Aaron didn't move; he couldn't make an attempt to escape, tied as he was and he didn't want to antagonize his captors. He could hear them having a hurried conversation but the closed doors muffled their words.

Aaron lay in the semi darkness; he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, feel his anxiety rising with every second of waiting to see what they would do.

The doors opened again.

"Get a blindfold on him, Archie and get him out here," the authoritative voice that had issued the orders at the shop spoke.

"Fuck sake boss! You've told him my name!"

"Fuck sake Archie! He's already seen your face; what does it matter if he knows your name. Now get on with it!"

The one called Archie, the one whose mask he had pulled off in the shop, scrambled into the van beside him, half dragging him upright as Aaron struggled to help.

Aaron tried to speak behind the foul cloth jammed into his mouth; he was desperate to know what they planned for him yet frightened to find out, but only incomprehensible sounds emerged.

"Shut the fuck up, ok!" Archie raised his hand threateningly but the blow never landed, instead he turned, ripped at a length of old sheeting beside him; tearing off a makeshift blindfold.

Aaron pulled his head back as the other man approached him, dreading the blinding rag cutting him off from his surroundings, unable to see the strangers who suddenly were in control of his life.

"Don't," pleaded the other man, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't cross the Boss, believe me, it's easier this way."

Aaron looked at Archie, looked into his eyes. He wasn't a lot older than himself, he realised, four years, maybe five but probably no more. He looked into his eyes, there was a warning there, unspoken, but fear too. Fear not of himself, Aaron realised, but of the man he called the Boss. Bending his head forward, he allowed Archie to tie the rag around his eyes. He tried to steady his breathing, breathing through his nose not the stinking gag in his mouth, trying not to let his rising anxiety betray him. He tried to keep still when all he wanted to do was pull away and run, run back to his real life.

Darkness descended again; he could feel hands pulling at him, freeing his legs before dragging him from the van, steadying him as he stumbled. Outside again, despite the effectiveness of the blindfold, he realized he could hear the sea lapping close by, could smell the tang of salt in the air.

"Just throw him," the voice he now recognized the Boss said.

"Not into the sea?" yelped Archie, close beside Aaron.

"Every single word you say makes me wonder why we brought you along," snarled the Boss. "You'd better buck your ideas up lad or it will be you thrown to the fishes. Now just get him into the boat."

Aaron felt himself being grabbed, manhandled, his shoulders grasped, hauled backwards. More hands lifted his legs, he felt himself being swung through the air before being released. For a second or two he flew unhindered, touching nothing, downwards until he landed, crashing in an ungainly heap on a pile of coarsely knotted fishing nets, the rough tangle of material scraping harshly across his naked skin. The jolt of his landing forced the breath from his body; for a few moments he just lay, feeling the gentle movement of the boat beneath him, its peaceful momentum at odds with the raging anxiety coursing through his veins making his whole body tingle with fear.

"C'mon, I'll help you sit up," another voice said beside him as hands pulled at him, not unkindly, easing him into a sitting position. "The Boss is just pissed that his plans have been fucked up."

With the gag still in his mouth, Aaron could only groan a response.

"Oh it wasn't just you," the voice continued in a bizarre kind of reassurance. "For some reason there wasn't the money in the safe there should have been, that's annoyed him more to be honest. There, you'll be fine there for a while."

The voice moved away. For a while Aaron half sat, half lay where he had been left. He could hear the sound of his captor's voices but not make out their words; instead he let himself be lulled by the movement of the boat. The movement of the boat; up and down, again and again, taking his stomach with it; gradually the movement became everything, all he could think of, overwhelming. Suddenly his insides were churning, protesting heaving in sympathy with the motion of the boat. He was going to be sick! He couldn't be sick, the gag was pulled tight into his mouth; his hands were still tied, he couldn't drag the gag away, free himself.

Choking, he began to kick his feet against the decking under him, trying to attract the attention of his captors. He tried flinging himself to one side, giving the foul vomit filling his mouth the greatest chance to find the smallest escape route. It didn't help! Nothing helped, his mouth was full, he tried to breathe through his nose but he could feel panic rising as he couldn't help but snort the thick acid liquid out of his nose. Behind the blindfold, tears welled in his eyes as he gasped for breath, as stars began to flicker across the darkness that was beyond the blackness of the blindfold.

"Fuck! He's throwing up!"

He heard the words but they were distant, as though he was hearing them through a fog as his limp body was suddenly pulled this way and that as urgent hands dragged at the gag, dragged him round onto his side. He coughed, gasping for breath as the vomit poured from his mouth.

For what seemed like an eternity he lay, his chest heaving with the effort of getting his breath back, letting the light-headedness retreat. He didn't care that he was lying in a pool of his own vomit, that it stank, that he stank, that he had been kidnapped and was in a boat sailing god knows where. All that mattered for the moment was that he was alive.

At last he turned to move, slowly rolling around onto his back until discomfort from his still tied hands stopped him. It was only then he realised that he could see, that the rag that had blindfolded him had gone, had been ripped off in the race to free him from the gag. Slowly he raised his eyes to see two men watching him, Archie and…

As their eyes met, at almost exactly the same time, they all realised. The rag that had blindfolded him had gone, dragged off in their haste to stop him choking to death.

"Shit!" breathed the man whose voice Aaron recognised as the one who had settled him on the pile of old nets.

"Fucking hell, Fetch!" the angry voice of the Boss came from the small wheelhouse. "This is going from bad to worse! You might as well untie him; he ain't going anywhere just now. And throw a bucket of water over him; I can smell his stinking puke from here!"

The boat lurched against the bouncing waves as though it was responding to the anger in the Boss's voice.

Grimacing resignedly, Fetch moved away from Aaron and lurched out of his sight, steadying himself as he went. Awkwardly Archie crouched behind Aaron, his fingers working to free the knots in the rope binding Aaron's wrists.

"Are you ok now?" he asked, resting back on his heels as Aaron slowly moved his arms forwards, rubbing his wrists tingling with pins and needles as the blood flow returned to them.

Aaron looked at him, raised his eyebrow in silent wonder; had he really just asked that question.

He lay back against the outside of the wheelhouse, his eyes closed. He didn't want to think of anything at the moment; what was happening, what could happen.

"Here," Fetch had returned, any noise from his footsteps masked by the noise of the sea. He placed a half filled bucket of water beside Aaron. "Clean yourself up a bit, there's a towel and some clothes to put on." He dropped a bundle beside Aaron, a tin of fizzy juice on top of it before turning away, just a little, although he didn't move any distance from him.

After waiting for a moment, Aaron understood that neither Fetch nor Archie were leaving him alone while he washed or changed into whatever clothes Fetch had found for him. He eased himself forward; there was a towel amongst the bundle of clothes, just a small one, not big enough to wrap himself in. Suddenly not caring anymore, he stood and slid off the sick soaked shorts that were all he had on, picked up the bucket of water and poured it over himself.

The cold water cascading over his naked body made all his senses tingle, come alive once more. He shook himself, then caught the towel to his face, rubbing it dry.

Suddenly, incongruously, a phone started to ring.

Aaron recognised the ring tone, he froze. It wasn't worth even hoping Fetch and Archie hadn't heard.

Fetch dived for the discarded shorts; ignoring the mess they were in, his rapid movements found the pocket and pulled Aaron's mobile from it.

"Jackson," he read, looking at the screen. "Who's Jackson?"

For a moment Aaron said nothing.

A noise came from behind them, a low rumble, a growl; both Fetch and Archie looked towards the wheelhouse where the Boss was steering the boat. They looked beyond the small wheelhouse, to the front of the boat where a fourth man had been scanning the sea around them but was now looking directly at them, interested. Catching each other's eyes for a split second, Fetch spoke again and this time there was a chilly edge of menace to his tone.

"You'd better tell us, who is Jackson?"


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

"He's not answering his phone," said Jackson, slightly puzzled, disconnecting the call.

"It's probably ringing out in the van," said Robbie, propping himself up on his elbow, looking at Jackson.

"I was sure he had it with him," muttered Jackson, as much to himself as to Robbie. "I think I'll walk up to meet him." He stood up, reached for his tee shirt and pulled it on. "Won't be long," he said, walking away from the other men.

He ambled along in no rush, enjoying the sensation of the sand trickling over his flip-flops. The beach was busier than it had been when they walked down earlier, couples, families enjoying themselves in the sunshine. He began the climb up the track that led towards the village. Passing the first few houses, he couldn't see beyond a bend in the road, hiding the main street from his view. It was only as he turned the corner that he saw the silent blue flashing lights of the stationary police cars and ambulance. He walked on; he thought he would have to pass them to get to the shop. It was only as he got closer that he realised they were directly outside the shop.

Nearer now, he saw the back of the ambulance was open, there was a young girl sitting on the edge of the step into the vehicle, he could see the paramedics trying to treat her, almost fighting against her distressed resistance. A police woman was crouching beside her, talking, trying to calm her while searching for information, behind her, a policeman wrote in his notebook while another spoke urgently into his radio.

Jackson walked closer, wondering if he could get into the shop. It was only as he drew level with the ambulance that he could make out what the young woman was saying between her sobs.

"They took him…he was trying to help…" she paused as one of the paramedic's was busy around her. "He was trying to stop them…and they hit him."

A cold chill snaked the length of Jackson's back, a feeling of dread pitted in his stomach. He lurched forward, trying to get closer to the girl, to hear what she was saying.

"I'm sorry sir, you can't come any closer," the policeman who had been talking into his radio moved to stand in front of Jackson. "We've had an incident."

"My boyfriend…" began Jackson, trying to peer beyond the burly policeman. "He was coming here to get a paper…he's been ages."

"No-oh," the mewling cry from the girl at the ambulance drew all their attention.

Closer now, Jackson could see her clothing, a bright red blood stain disfiguring her light summer coloured tee shirt, could see the paramedics struggling against her distress to see how badly she was hurt, to get an IV line into her vein.

"He's my height, short, dark hair, was wearing long shorts, nothing else," Jackson spoke urgently, the words tumbling over each other in his haste. He looked at the young girl, pleading with her not to answer, not to say that it had been Aaron.

Wordlessly she nodded, seemingly unaware of the tears streaming down her face.

The policeman turned towards Jackson, put a hand on his arm. "Come on, son, come and get a seat in the car." Gently he led Jackson towards one of the police cars.

Jackson was shaking. He didn't know when he started to shake, he was just shaking and he couldn't stop it.

The policeman opened the front passenger door of the car; Jackson sat sideways, his legs outside the door. The policeman crouched down in front of him, bringing him to Jackson's eye level.

"Your boyfriend son, tell me his name."

"Aaron," whispered Jackson. "Aaron Livesy."

"And you're here on holiday?" he guessed.

Jackson nodded. "What's happened?" he asked through chattering teeth despite the sunshine.

"It seems to have been a robbery; they were attacking young Jenny in the shop there and from what we can make out from what she's telling us - she's a bit distressed - it seems he jumped up to help her, got hit on the head for his trouble and for some reason they took him with them."

"Do you know who they are? Where they might have taken him?" Jackson asked.

"Not yet son," said the policeman kindly. "Now, where are you staying?"

"We're in camper vans," he began to reply. "Oh God! They're down at the beach! I need to phone them! Can I phone them?"

"Of course," understanding at once, that he was with friends, the policeman stood as Jackson took his phone from his pocket, scrolled through his contact list until he found the number he wanted and clicked connect.

"Finn?" said Jackson as the call was answered. Despite the heat of the day, the sun blazing down on them, he felt cold and shaky. "Oh Finn…" Suddenly the words wouldn't come; they were frozen on his lips.

Gently the policeman took the phone from his trembling fingers.

"This is Police Constable Pascoe speaking sir. There's been an incident involving Aaron Livesy, a friend of yours I believe. I'm with a young man now - his boyfriend…" he paused, listening to the voice on the end of the phone. He turned towards Jackson, "you're Jackson," he checked, continuing as Jackson silently nodded. "Yes. Yes sir, I think that would be a good idea. We're just at the shop." He clicked disconnect and handed the phone back to Jackson.

"Do you feel able to give me some details while we wait for your friends," he asked. "It all helps."

Jackson nodded and for a few minutes he sat in the car, answering the constable's questions as best he could.

Suddenly, quicker than he imagined, he saw Finn looming into view behind the constable, his mop of blond curls disheveled from his haste.

Following Jackson's eyes, suddenly aware of his presence, Constable Pascoe turned away from Jackson to greet the new arrival.

"I'm Finn," Finn held out his hand to the constable. "Reverend Finn Nicholson."

"Constable Edward Pascoe," said the policeman, shaking Finn's hand, hiding his surprise. "I'm afraid there has been an incident, involving your friend, Aaron Livesy."

Finn moved slightly, inching closer to Jackson, allowing him to rest his hand on the younger man's shoulder, squeezing gently, hoping to silently reassure him as he listened to the constable's rapid account of the little they knew of the hold up at the shop and Aaron's part in it. Half way through the account Robbie, Simon and Greg had appeared and were introduced.

Constable Pascoe had almost finished when the sound of crying reached them. "That's Jenny," he explained to the newcomers, "the young girl who was attacked; she's not doing very well."

Finn glanced down at Jackson, catching his eye. Understanding the wordless question, Jackson nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"If it's alright with you, I'll go and speak to her for a moment," said Finn.

"I'm not sure sir," hesitated Constable Pascoe, "she is a witness."

"And I'm a minister with a duty to offer comfort to those hurting," Finn smiled gently at the policeman. "And I promise not to ask her anything about what happened."

"Well…well it might help, sir," he said, his decision made. "The paramedics are having a bit of a time of it with her."

Finn nodded and moved away towards the ambulance. Jackson watched him, watched him speak briefly to the paramedics then turn to the young woman, sit beside her on the step into the ambulance. He couldn't hear what he was saying, couldn't even guess, but he could see her relax, catch hold of Finn's hand, hold it tightly as though she would never let it go, until gently he took one of her hands from his, held her arm as finally the paramedics were able to set up an IV drip.

"What happens now?" asked Greg.

"Well senior officers from HQ are on their way down to take charge of the inquiry, we don't get many cases of kidnap here," said Constable Pascoe. "But until we know more, it seems to be a case of wait and see."

"And what about us?" asked Jackson. "What should we do?"

"Well, we need all your contact details," replied Constable Pascoe. "And if you could stay close by…I gather you're in camper vans."

"Yes," confirmed Greg, "we're booked into a site about thirty miles from here tonight but now…" he trailed off, the words dying on hip lips.

"Perhaps you could stay locally for a while," said Constable Pascoe, "until…" he paused, "…until we…until we get Aaron back," he finished firmly. "There is a camp site a mile or so outside the village…"

"We passed it as we came into the village," interrupted Simon, "there was a notice at the gate, 'full'."

"Don't worry, I'll sort it," reassured Constable Pascoe. "My brother-in-law owns the site; I'll get him to find you a quiet spot. Give me a minute and we'll give you a run back to your vans just now and get you settled in up there. The chief inspector will want to talk to you later on."

He moved away, walking over to his colleague still standing near the ambulance.

The four menwatched him go but none of them spoke, there seemed to be nothing to say. Simon looked towards Jackson; under his suntan he could see the pallor of shock tainting his skin. Wordlessly he reached out, touched his shoulder, turned him towards him and slid his arm around his back, drawing him into a firm hug. For a timeless moment they stood unmoving, Jackson letting his face nestle into the curve between Simon's shoulder and neck; the noise of the ambulance suddenly starting up brought them out of their reverie with a jerk.

Finn watched the ambulance disappear then walked the short distance to his friends. He had kept his word to Constable Pascoe and not mentioned the attack, gently hushing Jenny with a quiet explanation as she tried to speak of it, turning their murmured words to hope, encouragement and reassurance.

"The constable says we need to stay locally," explained Greg, sliding himself under the protective arm of his boyfriend. "He says he can get us on the camp site – that one we passed, with the views – he said his brother-in-law owns it, so it won't be a problem. And they'll need to talk to us again, an inspector."

"It was a chief inspector," said Jackson almost automatically, still standing close to Simon.

"Yeah, it was," agreed Greg. "Anyway, he's gone to sort it then will get us back to the vans."

Even as he was speaking, Constable Pascoe turned away from his 4x4 and walked towards them.

"The chief is at the station just now," he said, looking at Jackson. "Would you mind coming in straight away, at least some of you?" He directed his question to Jackson before glancing at the other men, including them.

Jackson nodded. "Yeah, sure," he replied. "Simon…will you come with me?"

"Give me your keys," said Finn, "I'll drive your van up to the site."

"I've spoken to my brother-in-law, he's expecting you. WPC Griffiths will go up with you," he nodded to the woman police constable sitting in the second patrol car. "I'll take you into the station, then up to the farm, the camp site," he qualified.

It was quickly organized, Finn, Greg and Robbie leaving with WPC Griffiths in the patrol car, Simon and Jackson with Constable Pascoe in the 4x4.

It was only a short drive to the police station in the next village, a slightly larger, slightly more inland village, the police station being a small square annex built onto the side of what once must have been a council house in a short crescent of former council houses.

There was a man, tall, burly and in his shirt sleeves leafing through the poly-pocketed pages of a file on the desk; he looked up as the three men entered.

The introductions were quickly made; Detective Chief Inspector Thomson shaking each man's hand in turn.

"Tea Eddie, I think," he said to the constable, "or coffee, whichever the lads prefer." His voice didn't have the soft, West Country burr, but was more guttural showing signs of his origins in a more industrial part of the country.

He began to ask questions, gather details, take notes; things they had already told Constable Pascoe, searching for new directions to take the inquiry, searching for any scrap of information, searching for anything, anything, that might help.

Despite the heat of the day, the coffee, delivered in big mugs, was welcome and drunk almost without awareness of it.

But for all the questions, for all the hopeful encouragement, the two policemen could only offer hollow comfort and the promise that they were doing all they could, that inquiry was just beginning.

In reality, everyone knew, all they could do was wait.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

"Who is Jackson?"

There was no escaping answering; Fetch's tone was menacing, the threat, the suppressed violence barely below the surface of his words. He waited.

Aaron held the small towel against his naked body, hiding himself from the eyes of the dangerous strangers. The chill he felt was inside; his heart, his soul, his head; it had nothing to do with the warm breeze that blew across the boat from the sea.

"My boyfriend," he whispered, looking none of them in the eye.

A splash!

His head snapped up. Fetch still had his arm held out over the edge of the boat but his eyes were looking beyond Aaron to the large man in the front of the boat.

"Ooops," he said, directing his words to Aaron while his eyes flicked nervously towards the front of the boat.

A snort of laughter came from the man standing there, doing nothing now but looking at them.

"Tut tut, how careless you are Fetch," he smirked nastily. "Perhaps the little queer would like to go and get it." He took a step towards them.

Almost involuntarily Aaron pressed himself back as far as he could, the wall of the wheelhouse preventing his escape. The words had been nasty, but it was the man's eyes that disturbed him, sweeping over his body, drinking in his nakedness.

From the front of the boat, the man laughed and turned his attention back to scanning the empty ocean to one side of the boat and the strip of sea between them and the distant coast that appeared a dark line on the horizon.

"Get some clothes on," growled Fetch, kicking at the bundle still tumbled on the deck just a short distance from Aaron's feet.

He knelt, keeping his eyes warily on both Fetch and Archie. There was an oversize pair of jeans, far from clean and cut off mid calf; reluctantly he pulled them on, then the red tee shirt, equally baggy.

Fetch nodded to the pile of nets.

"Stay put," he said. "Archie, keep an eye." As Aaron sat, he moved out of view, ducking into the wheelhouse.

"You need to watch out for Tiny," Archie muttered, dropping beside Aaron on the nets.

"Why?" asked Aaron, not looking at Archie but keeping his eyes ahead, watching the spreading wake of the boat outlining their path.

"He hates queers," whispered Archie quietly. "Which is kinda funny, cos he'd fuck you as soon as look at you."

Aaron turned his head then, looking at him, looking into his eyes, trying to interpret his words. He saw fear there, fear of the large, powerful man only a few feet away from them. Aaron said nothing, only quirked one eyebrow a fraction, a gentle question.

Archie was silent for so long that Aaron thought he was going to say nothing more.

"It was a while ago," the whisper was little more than a breath into the air, whipped away by the sea almost before Aaron heard him.

Aaron looked into Archie's eyes, panic-struck eyes at perhaps having said too much already.

"You don't have to…" began Aaron.

Archie shook his head. "He was drunk, we were all a bit drunk…we'd been on a job…were celebrating," he paused, remembering. "I'm straight," he whispered, "straight. But that didn't stop him."

"Shit!" breathed Aaron. He didn't look at Archie, didn't want to attract any attention to their conversation. He could hear the other man breathing deeply, struggling to regain control of his emotions. "I'm sorry. What about…your friends?" He hesitated, not sure if that was the best way to describe Fetch and the Boss.

Archie gave a little snort, a derisive, dismissive sound. "They didn't know," he said. "He made sure of that"

"You should have told them," said Aaron.

"Like they would have cared," scoffed Archie. "Besides, I couldn't…" his voice trailed away. "I haven't told anyone before," he added quietly.

Slumped on the nets, neither of the young men looked at each other, neither spoke. Aaron leaned back against the wooden wall of the wheelhouse; he closed his eyes, with the sun beating down on his face he could almost imagine…almost. Seconds, minutes later, he felt Archie tense next to him, he opened his eyes. Tiny had moved from his look-out position at the front of the boat and was standing next to them. Behind him, Aaron noticed the distant coastline had come much closer; they were heading for the shore.

Tiny looked at them both for a few long, chilling seconds before moving past them into the wheelhouse. They could hear the deep rumble of a hurried conversation but the words were too indistinct to catch what they were saying.

A few minutes later Tiny leant out of the wheelhouse, stretching around the corner to where they were sitting.

"We'll be landing soon," he growled. "You do anything to cock it up and I'll throw you off the harbour wall myself." He glared at Archie. "And you will do exactly as you are told," he continued, speaking to Aaron, his voice icy with menace, "or it will be the worse for you," he finished.

Aaron said nothing, didn't even look up at the man speaking to him; he wished he could jump up, yell, scream, fight back, but he was scared. He didn't want to die and he knew the man in front of him would toss him overboard without a moment of hesitation so he just bit his lip and nodded silently.

"You," Tiny pushed the toe of his boot hard against Archie's leg, "go and help Fetch, we're gonna tuck the boat in the far side of the east harbour wall; he'll need a hand with the ropes and tying her up."

Archie scrambled to his feet and disappeared wordlessly from Aaron's sight. For a moment Tiny said nothing, just stood, towering above Aaron, looking down at him.

Feeling his eyes upon him, Aaron kept his own lowered as long as he could until he felt compelled to flick his glance upwards, to see a sneer of success flash across Tiny's face.

"Later," the big man growled before turning his back on Aaron and moving away from him.

Aaron didn't realize he had been holding his breath until he let it go as Tiny disappeared to the far end of the boat. He was on his own now, but he didn't move except to turn his head to watch land coming closer ever quicker now.

He could see the cliff along the coast taking shape; from this distance they looked solid, impenetrable yet he knew there must be little bays, small harbours, where boats could land.

It didn't take long for the boat to close the distance to the shore. With each minute the growing cliffs became clearer, higher. They were quite close before Aaron could suddenly discern the stone harbour wall almost invisible against cliff face. Even closer and he could make out small buildings, some around the harbour itself, others a little distance away.

Minutes later, the boat crept along a narrow channel between the outer harbour wall and the sheltering inner wall. Fetch, Tiny and Archie moved purposefully about, their movements familiar, well practiced, as the Boss gently nursed the boat to a set of stone steps set into the wall itself.

Aaron looked at the steps; to reach them he would have to cross the boat, get past Tiny, let alone the others, get up them without slipping on the green slime he could see coating them. Then what? He had no idea where he was, where he could go for help; he might be better biding his time…or maybe this would be his best chance to escape. At least he was would soon be on dry land again.

Quickly the boat was secured, its ropes holding it tight against the wall. Almost at once, Tiny appeared back at Aaron's side, towering over him.

"You are going to walk – nicely – between me and Fetch here," he said. Crouching down, leaning in towards Aaron's face, he put his hand to his belt, lifting the edge of his tee shirt a little. "Any nonsense and it will be the last from you. Understand?"

Despite himself, Aaron flicked his eyes downwards. Suddenly his heart was pounding in his chest, his stomach churning with anxiety; he felt the nausea of fear overwhelming him again. The unmistakable handle of a gun was visible; so easy for Tiny just to grab it and…any thoughts he had of trying to make a dash for freedom once he was back on dry land vanished from his head.

"Yes," he whispered, the words coming scratchily from his mouth dry with trepidation. "I understand."

"Move then," said Tiny, standing again and stepping to one side as Aaron scrambled to his feet.

On the steps, Fetch lent forward, grabbing Aaron's hand to pull him from the boat. Behind him, Tiny leapt with well practiced ease from the boat onto the steps. Glancing round, the few houses he had seen from the boat were on the far side of the harbour, on the lane leading away from the sea and Aaron could see no signs of movement, of life, in any of the doors or windows. Between the two men, Aaron walked along the wide harbour wall; with the sea splashing lazily against either side of it, it could, in other circumstances, have been quite lovely. Instead, he could feel his body quaking with nerves as he walked; with every step he bit his lip harder, quelling the rising panic that threatened to paralyse him.

At the far end of the harbour wall, hard against the cliff face, Aaron could see a large shed, it looked pretty dilapidated and as they got closer he could see his first impression wasn't wrong. The door stood ajar, Fetch pulled it further open and stood aside, waiting for Aaron to go in ahead of him.

Aaron hesitated; it looked dark inside, he was reluctant to enter until an ungentle shove from Tiny pushed him into the semi darkness.

The smell was disgusting, fish, years of fish and wood constantly damp from the sea. Aaron looked around him, taking in his surroundings as Tiny moved towards the back of the shed and began lifting some of the boxes out of the way.

"You cannot be serious," began Fetch, his voice full of incredulity.

"Well we can't just leave him here," snapped Tiny. "The shed's not secure enough and that fool Archie would just leave the door open anyway!" As he was speaking, Tiny continued clearing the back wall of the shed.

As he did so, Aaron could see that it wasn't the old wood of the shed that he was expecting to see revealed but a door of iron bars covering the dark, gapping entrance of a cave.

"What the fuck?" Aaron exclaimed, unable now to keep the panic from his voice.

"This coast was a haven for smugglers," said Tiny, his tone almost conversational. "This cave goes for miles into the cliff before coming out, but it's narrow in places and some parts flood at high tide. Try to escape that way, without a light and you'll be dead before you're a hundred yards into the cliff." He grinned at Aaron, a smile of no humour, only malice. "Now get in there." He swung the barred door open and waited.

There was nothing he could do, no escape. His body would hardly moved, his feet hardly take the few steps across the shed into the dark yawning hole, reluctantly he crossed the threshold. He said nothing, but looked at the two men, tried to read the expression in their eyes. Fetch, his eyes avoided catching Aaron's own, kept his gaze warily on Tiny. Glancing at Tiny, Aaron could see only malicious amusement in his eyes. The door clanged shut behind him, Tiny threaded a heavy chain through the bars before fastening it with a padlock. He dropped the key into his pocket

"I'll be back…later," through the bars Tiny grabbed at the baggy red tee shirt and pulled Aaron close up against the cold metal. For a moment he just stared at him, before letting his hand drop the fistful of material he had been holding. He laughed, a mirthless sound, then moved away from the door of iron bars.

The scrape of the main door of the shed opening made them all look round; the Boss appeared, with Archie at his heels, his eyes widening as he saw Aaron imprisoned behind the bars.

The Boss took in the scene, nodding. "He'll be safe enough there for a while," he said. He walked up to the door, rattling the bars loudly, they all jumped. Satisfied at finding it secure he turned away.

"What are you going to do?" called Aaron, suddenly scared at being left alone. "You can't keep me here!"

"Oh we can!" snarled the Boss, turning back to face him. "You fucked that job up for us, now your boyfriend can pay to get you back." He moved away from Aaron. "You've got the key safe?" he directed the question to Tiny.

Tiny smirked, only patting his pocket with his hand. The Boss said nothing, quirking one eyebrow high up his forehead before shrugging his shoulders.

"Archie, you can stay here, keep an eye. Fetch, go and get them something to eat," he looked at the two men, a warning in his eyes. "Tiny?" he paused, "just don't wreck the goods, right?"

Tiny laughed. "When do I ever," he scoffed, glancing back over his shoulder as he followed Fetch and the Boss towards the door.

"Wait!" called Aaron urgently.

The men stopped, turned to look at him.

"I need to piss!" he continued.

"Well there are miles of cave behind you to go in," said Tiny. "Oh wait, maybe you don't want to wander off in the darkness. You'll just have to piss here, won't you…unless you're shy about getting your cock out now that we know you're queer?" He laughed; an unpleasant sound. He was still laughing as he left the shed behind Fetch and the Boss.

For a minute or two, neither Aaron nor Archie spoke. Aaron leaned against the bars, his back to Archie, his eyes closed.

"Is there a torch or anything here," he asked eventually, his voice tired, resigned.

"I don't know, I'm sorry," said Archie, beginning to scrabble around amongst the debris in the large shed. "I won't look if you need…"

"Right now, I couldn't give a fuck," said Aaron quietly. "It's just…well he was right, I don't want to go back there - in the dark." He moved away from the door but sideways, as far from Archie as he could manage without leaving the meagre light the filtered into the shed. His hands fumbled at the unfamiliar zip, it seemed to jam, he tugged, almost sobbing in frustration as it wouldn't open and the urgency of his need increased.

"You ok?" Archie's voice came uncertainly from the far side of the shed.

Aaron's only answer was a grunt, the escaping breath that he had been holding with the effort of tugging at the recalcitrant zip, released as it unjammed. He pee'd quickly, his back turned from Archie, although he didn't think the other man was anywhere near the bars, anywhere near his prison.

Finishing, he fastened the zip on the jeans again, then moved as far away to the other side of the doorway as he could. He felt cold now, despite the heat of the day outside, the cave felt damp with the chill, fetid air from the looming space stretching behind him, seeping forwards. Leaning against the bars, they were cold to his touch; absently he began running his fingers up and down them. It was a minute or two before he became aware of what he was doing, glancing out into the shed, he could see Archie sitting on the floor, he had found an old newspaper and appeared to be reading.

Aaron moved further to the side of his prison, to the wall where the wood of the shed gave way to the rock of the cave. Trying not to move his body to much, to make it obvious, he let his hands roam carefully over the wood and rock, let his fingers tentatively feel for any gap, any weakness.

"It's solid," Archie's voice was quiet, unemotionally stating a fact. "It's been used as a secret store, a hideaway, for years. They knew how to build, how to hide things, the gentlemen."

"The gentlemen?" questioned Aaron.

"The smugglers," explained Archie. "They originally barred the entrance to the cave. The shed was much smaller then, it's been replaced several times, but the bars are solid and go right into the rock face."

Frustrated, Aaron flung himself against bars before sliding down them to the ground; he was still on the wooden floor of the shed, it extended several feet beyond the bars, beyond the feeble light filtering through from the small windows, but it was as damp as the air around him seemed to be and he quickly stood again.

"You might as well," said Archie, "goodness knows how long Fetch will be. Here," he stood and grabbing a bit of old sacking, shoved it through the bars towards Aaron.

Dropping it on the ground, as near to the bars as he could, Aaron sank to the floor. With his knees raised, he rested his elbows on them, his fists pressing into his eyes. How long had it been? He hadn't been wearing his watch, he had no idea how much time had passed since he went to get a newspaper. Two hours? Four, five? What were Jackson and the others doing? Did they know he was missing, had been kidnapped? Pushing his fists into his eyes, he tried to blot out all the thoughts running amok in his mind. It didn't help. Nothing helped.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

The vans were parked in a small field away from the main camp site, further from the magnificent sea views but nearer the spreading farm buildings.

WPC Griffiths had taken them to the farm first, greeting the dumpy farmer's wife with a hug.

"I'm ex force myself," explained Ellen as she bustled about the kitchen, having insisted everyone sit down, she filled a big kettle at the sink as she spoke. "Although you wouldn't think so, seeing me now," she patted her ample tummy. "Cassie here was at the same station."

Despite their protests, their lack of appetite, Ellen spread open tins of home baking across the table, insisting they eat.

It was some time later when she directed them to the field beyond the house, finally letting them escape as she urged Cassie to come back to the farmhouse after she had seen them settled.

Robbie, Greg and Finn parked the vans angled close together, their doors all opening inwards. The sun was still blazing down, but nobody felt like sunbathing and they sat in the shade, hardly speaking, all of them lost in their own thoughts, still hardly able to believe what had happened.

It was more than two hours later that Jackson and Simon returned with Constable Pascoe, but even then, their mood didn't lift and the five men sat listlessly in the dying heat of the day.

"If only there was something we could do," groaned Robbie. It was a refrain that echoed between them; sitting, waiting was hard, almost impossible. Simon and Jackson had already repeated their conversation with DCI Thomson, when for all the police jargon, it boiled down to just waiting, hoping.

Jackson was lying on the grass, saying nothing, letting his friend's fragmented conversation drift above his head. He felt numb, sick if he thought too much, if he let his imagination have free reign. He couldn't see a way out of it, a way of finding Aaron, when the police seemed ridiculously short of leads. Unless they knew more than they were telling, of course. His mind buzzed with it all, soared, every thought filling him with terror.

Beside him, his mobile rang. Grabbing it, a burst of hope flooding through him, he looked at the screen. Chas! She knew then! The police had told them they would be sending someone to Emmerdale, to tell her and Cain; as Aaron's next of kin, they had to…he didn't count, not really.

He stared at the screen, making no move to answer the insistent ringing. He was surprised to feel Finn's fingers curling around his own, gently taking the phone from him, answering it.

Finn walked slowly away from the others as he spoke to Chas; he could hear her distress, her confusion, through the phone but could tell her no more, offer no more hope than the police had already done.

"They're on their way,"he said, returning the phone to Jackson before throwing himself on the ground beside Greg. "Be here in the middle of the night sometime, although she said they are going straight to the Police HQ."

"D'you think they'll tell us if they hear anything," asked Robbie. "The police, I mean," he continued.

"Constable Pascoe said he would," said Simon, his voice hesitating, wondering if the officer would be true to his word.

"We should try and do something," said Robbie, "help pass the time."

"Any ideas then?" asked Simon.

Nobody spoke; time hung heavy between them. On other days, lazing around, doing nothing, had been a joy, a pleasure, the minutes never dragging. Now each minute seemed endless; they sat or lay in silence as at last the sun sunk slowly over the horizon. It was only as the end of the endless day came into sight that they moved into one of the vans; not yet ready to split up for the night.

_Sorry for such a short chapter tonight but when I wrote it I wasn't thinking in terms of chapters and this ended up as a short chapter between two longer ones. Thanks again for the reviews, much appreciated. _


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

There was less light than ever filtering into Aaron's prison; as the sun went down outside, the small space by the bars got ever darker although not yet as dark as the yawning cave stretching behind him. The remains of the roll and cheese Fetch had brought him lay half eaten on the ground beside him.

On the other side of the bars, Aaron could see Archie; he appeared to be sleeping, leaning against boxes, his head lolling backwards, his mouth gently open. Aaron wished he could sleep, no; he wished he could wake up and find it all a dream, that he had fallen asleep on the beach and this was all a dream brought on by the heat.

For the hundredth, thousandth time, he wondered what Jackson was doing, what anyone was doing; surely the police must be looking for him now.

On the far side of the shed, the door crashed open, making him jump, waking Archie with a fright. Tiny strode into the shed, staggering a little as he entered.

"Ah boys," he said, his words slurring. "Time for us to have a bit of fun, I think." Turning, he locked the outer door behind him, pocketing the key, before lurching unsteadily towards Archie, his large frame stumbling into the piled boxes and sacks around them.

Watching him, Archie struggled to scramble to his feet, all the while backing away from him as much as he could.

Watching Archie, watching his obvious fear, Aaron felt a cold chill that had nothing to do with the chill of his surroundings sweep over his body.

Still surprisingly agile despite his obvious intoxication, Tiny lifted his hand and caught Archie a blow to his head that sent him flying to the floor, following it up with a vicious kick to his side, winding him. Bending, grabbing the neck of his tee shirt, he pulled him up onto his knees. His grip still securely holding him, one-handed Tiny undid his zip and shrugged his jeans down from his hips a little, enough to let his thick, already hard cock jut out.

"Suck it," he growled, pushing Archie's face towards it.

Archie sobbed, incoherent words escaping his lips as he tried to turn his face away from the monstrous erection so close to him. Tiny changed his grip; his two huge hands twisted Archie's hair in his fingers, forcing his head round before thrusting his hips, his cock, hard towards Archie's mouth.

"For fuck sake, stop it!" yelled Aaron, helplessly rattling the bars of his prison.

"Shut the fuck up!" roared Tiny, freeing one hand long enough to half turn, hit the bars, making the door rattle alarmingly as he glared at Aaron. "Like I said, we're having fun - and don't worry, you're not gonna miss all of it." He laughed, laughed as though he was truly enjoying himself.

Aaron drew away from the bars, stepped backwards, pushing himself as hard against the rock face as he could. He could still see, still hear…he slid down the cold, slimy rock pushing his fists into his eyes again, blocking out the scene before him. But he couldn't shut out the noise too; the grunts and groans of pleasure as Tiny thrust his cock ferociously into Archie's mouth, fucking his face. Aaron could hear the other man gagging, gasping for breath as Tiny refused to let him pull back at all.

"Ah you could be such a sweet fucking cock-sucker," gasped Tiny, his breath short as he neared his climax. "And guess what? You're gonna…swallow…my load, every fucking…precious… drop of it!" He made a noise, guttural and explosive, as he came.

Holding his breath, dreading what he might see, Aaron dropped his fists from his eyes. Looking through the bars he could see Tiny breathing heavily with the exertion of his orgasm, but his own release wasn't stopping him holding Archie, still holding his face hard between his hands, forcing his mouth shut, a cruel smile on his face as he watched the other man struggled to swallow the cum that filled his mouth as he tried to wrench is head away, desperate to gasp air into his deprived lungs.

At last, by his coughing and spluttering, Tiny could see that Archie had swallowed it all. He released him then, pushing him roughly away from him so that he crashed in an ungainly heap over a pile of boxes. He didn't move, only his chest rising and falling with each heaving breath.

Slowly Tiny turned towards the barred door, towards Aaron.

"Now, you're not going to give me any trouble, are you," he almost purred as he felt for the key in his pocket. "I know the Boss said your arse was out of bounds, but believe me…" he unlocked the door and swung it open, "give me any bother and that won't stop me. And an arse that tries to resist…ends up…very…very sore; which turns me on no end." He was through the door now, his voice low and threatening as he advanced on Aaron.

Aaron moved back as far as he could but it wasn't far, just a few steps and his back was pressed hard against the rock face again. Tiny came closer, until his body was almost touching Aaron's, until Aaron could smell the booze on his breath.

Tiny caught his chin with one huge hand, forcing his head backwards, his other hand dropped downwards to Aaron's crotch, grasping at his cock through his jeans, his movement partly a gripping squeeze, partly a rub, up and down until he felt a response under his fingers.

"Can't help yourself, can you," snarled Tiny with a snigger. "Now lose the jeans."

"What? No!" confused, not believing this, Aaron tried to shake his head.

"You heard me!" With a roar, Tiny thrust his knee sharply upwards, between Aaron's legs, crashing into his balls. "Now do it," he snarled, pushing harder than ever against Aaron's face.

He wanted to fight back, to shout, scream, twist his body out of that cruel grip but Tiny was several inches taller and many pounds heavier, his muscles solid, toned with years of working on fishing boats so he did the only thing he could.

As the jeans slid to his ankles, Tiny finally moved his hand from Aaron's face, shoving him roughly towards Archie.

"Now take his off," he nodded towards Archie, still lying across the boxes where he had landed; his eyes, which had been closed, sprung open, staring at his attacker and his fellow victim.

Slowly, reluctantly, hoping that if he moved slowly enough the nightmare would stop, Aaron moved towards Archie.

"I'm sorry!" His voice was a whisper, a sob, "I'm sorry." Tentatively he reached out his fingers, resting them lightly on the denim at Archie's hips.

"Don't worry, just do it," whispered Archie, lifting his hips a little. "Just do anything he says…he's drunk…and he's mad enough to kill us."

Aaron struggled to pull off the jeans, then after them, Archie's dirty grey boxers, dropping them both on the floor. All the while he was aware of Tiny watching him, watching every movement as he removed the clothes.

"Now his tee shirt," instructed Tiny. "I'm gonna watch you two have a lot of fun, you're gonna make me nice and hard again. Then I'm gonna fuck someone."

Even as he was speaking, Aaron was helping Archie out of his tee shirt, half dragging it over his head in his desperation to avoid angering Tiny any further

Aaron dropped Archie's tee shirt on the floor, then risked a glancetowards Tiny.

"Yours too," growled Tiny, seeing his glance, nodding towards Aaron's own tee shirt. "I don't want to miss anything as you two boys play. Now climb up there and suck him off." He indicated the pile of boxes that Archie lay nakedly draped across.

Moving carefully, trying to hide himself from Tiny's gaze, Aaron turned towards Archie. He didn't dare say anything but he mouthed the words "I'm sorry" once more as made to kneel over Archie's body. For a second the two men locked eyes, shared their fear, their horror of the situation they found themselves in. Almost imperceptibly, Archie nodded before closing his eyes.

"And I don't want no piss poor performance," snarled Tiny. "You suck him like he's your boyfriend and loving every minute."

Aaron caught his breath, he closed his eyes for a second, but that didn't help, a picture of Jackson flashed through his mind. Jackson! No! He couldn't think of him now, he had to get through this, for himself, for Archie, for their survival. All he could do now was make it as easy for Archie as he could.

The tumble of boxes was solid and unmoving as Aaron knelt over Archie; he looked at the flaccid cock below him. For a second, he did nothing, just bit his lower lip, almost holding his breath, as he steeled himself to do this…this thing. As gently as he could, he grasped Archie's cock, holding it; he lifted it to his lips. For a second, a split second, he did nothing, just held the head against his lips…he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breath short with anxiety. He opened his mouth, let the unfamiliar cock slide between his lips; closing his lips as lightly as he could, he began to move up and down the shaft, touching as little skin to skin as he could manage.

"No!"

A stinging blow accompanied the word as Tiny's hand connected sharply with Aaron's backside.

"I said to do it properly," continued Tiny. "I want to see him shoot his load all over you and I want you to keep your arse in the air…in case you need any more encouragement." He let his handslide across Aaron' backside, his fingers straying to his crack, his thumb playing down the length of it, pausing for a moment at his hole, pausing as though he might push into it.

"Now! Do it properly!" he cuffed Aaron abruptly round the head as he spoke, then moved a little, improving his view.

The blow jerked Aaron's head; beneath him, he felt Archie jump at the sudden sharp movement hurting him.

"S'okay," muttered Archie quietly, "just…"

Aaron glanced up at him, saw his eyes tight shut, his lips a thin line, almost invisible as he bit down. Behind him, Tiny made a noise, a growl of impatience, threatening and dangerous.

Aaron bent his head again; he tried not to think, to blank his mind from everything but the rhythmic movements of his head, his lips and tongue offering encouragement, his hands supporting, praying that Archie would be able to cum, to end it, for both of them.

Suddenly he knew Tiny was behind him, even with his eyes closed, he felt his presence before he felt the pressure of his hands, one pushing between his slightly spread legs, roughly grabbing his cock, the other on his arse, caressing. A sick, hated caress by a hand that could do as it wanted and it wanted to possess him, invade him. Circling his butt cheeks first, Tiny quickly moved closer to his hole, exposed and on display in the position that he had forced him to take. It was hard to concentrate on sucking as Tiny pushed a finger, two fingers viciously into his arse, holding them there, filling him.

It seemed to take forever; his neck ached, his mouth was dry. Close against his back, Tiny breathed in short excited panting breaths as his eyes drank in the scene in front of him. Suddenly Aaron felt Archie's body change beneath him, begin to spasm.

"Gonna cum," gasped Archie.

Unexpectedly, Tiny roughly yanked Aaron's head backwards, pulling his mouth off Archie's cock.

"Use your hands," he growled, clamping his huge hands over Aaron's own, making his grip hard as he forced him to make the final rhythmic jerks making Archie cum.

Changing his position again, Tiny forced Aaron's head forward until his face, his chest, was covered with Archie's spunk. He laughed, then twisting, catching one hand at Aaron's neck, effectively controlling him, the other smeared the juice over Aaron's chest, pausing to pinch one nipple, hard, until he felt his captive try to pull away from him, almost crying out as he did so.

Suddenly Tiny thrust two cum covered fingers hard into Aaron's mouth, deeply in and out, once, twice, making him gag, before finally pulling out and laughing again. He hit him then, a glancing blow across the side of his head, his powerful body sending Aaron stumbling backwards, into boxes piled up, tripping until he tumbled to the floor.

Winded, breathless, at first Aaron kept his eyes shut, trying to get his breathing under control, but he could hear them, could hear the blows falling, could hear the gasps of pain; could tell Tiny hadn't finished. Reluctantly he opened his eyes.

Archie was still lying across the packing cases, but now he was lying on his front and Tiny was thrusting hard into his arse, grunting with pleasure at each violent thrust. Quicker now, his pace increasing as he neared his own climax, with one final roar he pushed into the unresisting Archie, his hands now pulling his hips tight against him as his orgasm finally spent itself.

At last Tiny pulled out of Archie and shrugged up his trousers, turning towards Aaron, a smirk of satisfaction on his face.

"Get back in there," he nodded towards the cage.

Hardly able to stand, Aaron half crawled, half staggered backward to his prison, not taking his eyes from Tiny's cruel face. As soon as he was behind the bars again, the door slammed and Tiny locked it, pocketing the key. He didn't even bother looking at the unmoving form of Archie as he left the shed, locking that door behind him.

For a moment, there was no movement, no noise, Aaron daring nothing in case Tiny came back. Across the room, he could just see Archie, lying where Tiny had left him; eventually he stood, with a final glance towards the door, at last he called out.

"Archie? Archie, can you hear me?"

For a moment he thought Archie was unconscious, or even worse. Dragging his mind abruptly from that thought, he called again and this time heard the faint groans of difficult movement.

"Archie? Are you alright?"

Archie rolled round and struggled to sit up. "He's gone?" It was a question.

"Yeah, he's gone. You okay?"

"I will be," Archie's voice was quiet, punctuated with groans as he carefully moved, testing each movement for discomfort, for pain. Slowly he swung his legs to the ground, pausing a moment before standing.

"Shit!" he exclaimed quietly.

"What is it? What's the matter?" asked Aaron, peering through the bars of his prison, trying to get a clearer view of Archie.

"It's nothing, it'll be fine," Archie said, sounding awkward. "Here!" He bent a little and threw tee shirt and jeans through the bars to Aaron, drawing a sharp breath in as he did so.

"Archie?" said Aaron, catching the clothes but making no immediate move to put them on.

"It's ok," said Archie, sitting down rather abruptly. "I'm bleeding, but it'll be alright, it happened before."

"Fuck," breathed Aaron, his hands gripping the bars as he peered through, trying to see Archie, but finally it was getting dark outside now and in the gloom of the shed it was getting harder to make out the shapes around him.

"Try and put your clothes on, then come over here," Aaron continued as he quickly pulled his own clothes on, almost holding his breath as he waited to hear Archie moving.

Slowly Archie did as Aaron instructed; carefully pulling on his jeans, followed by his tee shirt, before sliding exhausted to the floor just the other side of the bars.

"Wake me up if you hear any of them coming," he muttered. "I just need a bit of a rest."

He seemed to sleep quickly; he was close enough that Aaron could hear his steady breathing as he leaned against the rock face, straining his ears for any sound beyond their prison. Eventually, unable to keep his eyes open any longer, Aaron too slept.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Jackson opened his eyes, surprised to find it full daylight; he hadn't expected to sleep at all, although it could be any time from 4am to midmorning, it was impossible to tell from the bright sun already shining. He turned, lifting his wrist to see his watch. It was just after 7am and already warm; he had stayed with Robbie and Simon, not wanting to face his own empty van, sleeping in the small bed above the front cab.

Suddenly he realised what had woken him; a noise, the noise of an engine chugging slowly towards them. Scrambling, he jumped down, landing with a heavy thud on the floor beside the double bed where Robbie and Simon lay curled together.

Yanking open the door, the police car was just stopping as he jumped down from the van; even before Constable Pascoe had the door open, Jackson was beside the car, waiting for him.

"God, you look even worse than I feel," exclaimed Jackson as the constable stepped from the car.

"It's been a busy night," said Constable Pascoe, "and there have been developments."

"Have you found him?" questioned Jackson urgently. "Is he safe?"

"Not yet," said Constable Pascoe quickly, dashing his hopes before they could rise too wildly. "Now what about…"

Even as he spoke, Finn and Greg appeared from the van furthest away, dressed already in cut-offs and tee shirts in anticipation of another hot day.

"What about…" began Constable Pascoe again.

"Robbie! Simon!" shouted Jackson, thumping on the side of the van. "Get out here now! Constable Pascoe is here."

He had hardly finished speaking before they were out of the van, joining the others gathered around the police car.

"There's been a ransom demand," said Constable Pascoe quickly, glancing round at the five men, each of them intently watching him, measuring his words. "They want £10,000 in used notes and have specified a place to leave it. They said Aaron would be released an hour after the money is collected."

"£10,000!" whistled Simon.

"Where are we going to get that kind of money," said Jackson, his voice wobbling as he tried to keep the emotion from it.

"It's not police policy to pay ransom demands," began the constable, his words quickly drowned out by a stream of protest. "But that's not all," he added quickly, cutting off their distress and confusion.

"What?" asked Jackson, his voice brittle with anxiety..

"Tell us constable," said Finn, his more reasonable tone overpowering Jackson's more demanding one.

"They have been looking at CCTV; they think they've spotted them leaving from a harbour two miles down the coast. And one of the old boys who hangs around the harbour says he recognises the boat."

"So do they know where it comes from? Who owns it?" asked Jackson.

"They are following up all leads," said Constable Pascoe diplomatically. "We'll let you know as soon as there is any more news."

"What about his family?" asked Finn, remembering that Chas and Cain were on their way. "Did they arrive?"

"They're at police HQ," confirmed Constable Pascoe. "Miss Dingle is very upset…" he let the words trail away.

"We'll go there too," said Jackson. "That'll be alright, won't it? Even though I'm not…we're not…"

"That'll be fine," said the constable reassuringly, he took a small card from his pocket, "here's the address. If I'm not there I'll tell the desk sergeant to expect you."

"We'll go right away," said Finn knowing that Jackson, that all of them, wouldn't be able to settle to anything anyway. "What about you, constable, you look tired; are you off duty yet."

"Not yet sir," answered Constable Pascoe. "With this," he shrugged, "we all want to see it through." He nodded a goodbye to them all before returning to his car.

Silently, they watched him drive away.

"I feel so sick," said Jackson, watching the disappearing police car.

Beside him, Robbie put his arm round him, hugged him to him. "I'm sure they are doing all they can," he said, trying to reassure himself as much as Jackson.

In less than an hour they were at Police HQ, shown to a room, comfortable by police standards, by the desk sergeant. A room that was already occupied; two people had their backs to them, only turning as they heard them enter.

"Chas!" exclaimed Jackson, first into the room.

"What the fuck's been happening?" growled Cain, taking a few steps towards the newcomers. "They said he got caught up in a robbery that went wrong and has been kidnapped?"

"We really don't know anything more than that," said Finn calmly. "They'll have told you about the ransom and CCTV of the fishing boat?"

"Yes! Yes of course," said Cain, beginning to pace.

Taking a step forward, Finn caught his arm, halted his pacing. "You need to be strong, Cain," he said quietly enough that only the man close to him heard his encouraging words. "They all need you." Finn looked into the dark, haunted eyes in front of him, trying to fill the scared man beside him with the strength that he got from…from somewhere.

"Tea? Coffee?" said Chas moving through them towards a small worktop in the corner of the room. "Everything is here; it's really very well equipped; there's milk, sugar, biscuits. Toast, we could make toast; who wants toast?" Her voice rose as she spoke, her words becoming more and more distressed and agitated until they disappeared into her sobs and she sunk onto the nearest chair, her head in her hands, her body shaking.

"Chas! Hush Chas," said Cain, breaking away from Finn and kneeling beside her chair. "We've got to trust them, believe they're doing their best."

Chas snorted, coughed, stifled her sobs. "That's funny that, hearing you say that," she said, her voice harsh and raw with emotion.

"I know," replied Cain wryly. "I hate these places, these pi…people. But sometimes…"

"Sometimes we just have to have faith they know what they are doing and let them get on with it," interrupted Finn firmly. "Now. Let's get that kettle on."

Tea, coffee, silence and conversations, interruptions, police officers in and out; the minutes, hours crept by more slowly than seemed possible. In turn they each sat, paced, gazed out of the window looking for answers, but in the end they could do nothing but wait.

Even so, they all jumped when the door clicked open but only Jackson and Simon recognised the man who entered.

"DCI Thomson," he said, his hand reaching out, first to Chas and Cain then to the other men. "I know Constable Pascoe has told you about the two leads we have; very shortly we'll be acting on both of them." He looked around at his attentive audience.

"One undercover team are going to the designated ransom drop, other teams are going to two small harbours some miles down the coast from here. Our information is that the boat that was identified on the CCTV uses both of them."

"And do you think Aaron might be at one of these harbours?" demanded Cain.

"Both of these harbours are small," said the DCI, "hardly more than bolt holes for bad weather. I think there is a good chance that is where they are holding him."

"How soon will we know anything?" asked Cain gruffly.

"At least a couple of hours" answered the DCI, "maybe longer. But as soon as we have any news…"

A few minutes later, they all stared at the door closing behind him; nobody spoke, there was nothing to say.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Aaron opened his eyes,he didn't know what had wakened him, what noise, what sound, but something had. He lay, not moving, his ears straining to hear the slightest sound outside yet dreading to hear the sound of the key in the lock, bringing Tiny back and the horror of the night before re-lived once more.

There it was again! It hadn't been his imagination! He could hear the slightest scratching against the outside wall of the shed; was it even scratching? Could it just be a tree, a branch?

"Archie!" he whispered. "Archie, wake up! There's someone outside!" Hardly moving, he reached through the bars, his fingers finding Archie's shoulder, shaking him gently.

The noise came again; Aaron moved quietly until he was sitting up.

"Archie," he whispered again. He looked towards the other man, in the gloom it looked like he was still asleep. Aaron reached through the bars again; he could reach further this time and shook him harder. Reaching, his fingers felt something wet, sticky, his jeans were soaked.

"Archie! Archie!" he exclaimed, forgetting the need to whisper. "Archie, wake up!"

The crashing of the door being violently forced open made him jump, stumble backwards.

"Police! Don't move!" Loud, firm voices preceded two, three, four uniformed officers bursting into the building.

"Help him! You need to help him!" Aaron yelled at them, needing them to understand, to realise the urgency of the situation.

"I'm Sergeant Pengelly, are you Aaron Livesy?" demanded the first officer coming further into the shed, still looking around him.

"Yes! Yes but you need to help him, he's bleeding!"

The sergeant turned, "Radio it in," he called. "We've got him, but we need paramedics and someone with bolt cutters." He turned back to Aaron, "Who is he?"

"His name's Archie, that's all I know," said Aaron. "But he was raped last night and he's been bleeding. Look at his jeans."

At last the policeman bent to the recumbent figure, touched him, felt the soaking trousers.

"Shit!" he breathed. "Get those paramedics in here now," he yelled. "What about you lad? We'll get you out as soon as we can, but are you…?"

"No, I'm okay…he didn't really…it wasn't so bad for me" said Aaron haltingly, looking beyond the policemen as suddenly more people spilled into the shed, making it seem cramped and overcrowded.

Two paramedics arrived and knelt by Archie, their practiced eyes taking in his condition.

"We need to get him out of here," said the older man "can't see a thing in this light. "Get a stretcher under him and we'll carry him to the wagon," he added, nodding to his companion.

Aaron watched, feeling helpless as the paramedics, with one of the policemen helping, quickly moved Archie, taking him from the shed out into the bright sunlight he could see beyond the door.

A fireman appeared, striding towards the policeman who still stood close to Aaron, just the other side of the bars.

"Definitely not got any key for this?" he asked by way of greeting.

"No," replied Sergeant Pengelly, "at least, the kid didn't have it on him did he, in those jeans?"

"No," said Aaron. "Tiny took it with him last night."

"Tiny?" asked the policeman.

"That's all I heard him called," said Aaron. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it now lad. We'll get you out first, then worry about what you have to tell us."

"Just stand right back," said the fireman, rattling the barred door experimentally.

It was the work of minutes for the fireman to cut round the large lock and swing the door open. Only seconds after, Aaron stood at the door of the shed, breathing in the fresh salty air, almost unable to believe it was over, he was free. He looked around him; the ambulance was still on the harbour-side; its double back doors open, he could see the paramedics bending over Archie, busily working. Another policeman walked by, carrying something; only as he passed did Aaron realise it was Archie's blood-soaked jeans, already bagged as evidence.

"Come on lad, into the ambulance with you," said Sergeant Pengelly beside him.

"No. It's okay, I'm fine," said Aaron. "I need to get back to Jackson, to my friends."

"They've been told you're going to the hospital," said the officer kindly. "They can see you there but we need to get you checked out and there are…" he paused "it's a matter of forensics, we need samples for evidence."

The policeman accompanied Aaron towards the ambulance. "Have you got room for the lad and an officer?" he asked.

"Best if you can take him in," said the paramedic, flicking his eyes towards the unmoving Archie, now attached to intravenous lines and the multi-coloured wires of a beeping monitor. "We're going to rendezvous with the air ambulance, this lad needs in as soon as… he needs urgent attention, we can get another unit out here to take him in."

"No, he's okay," confirmed the policeman, "we'll just take him in on the blue lights."

"Right, we'll get away then," said the paramedic, leaning out to pull the doors closed. "See you."

Aaron watched the ambulance pull away, slowly at first as it passed the array of parked emergency vehicles that were now strung out along the length of the track leading down to the harbour. More people had appeared, men and women in enveloping white paper suits carrying cases of equipment disappeared into the shed.

They stopped at one of the police cars, an officer already in the driver's seat. Sergeant Pengelly lifted the boot lid, drawing out an identical white suit, still in its sterile wrapper.

"I need to ask you to put this on," he said. "On top of your clothes for now, to preserve anything that may be on them."

Wordlessly Aaron accepted the suit; slipping it from its wrapping, he shook it open and stepped into it. Then Sergeant Pengelly stood aside as he held open the back door of the police car, placing his hand gently on the top of Aaron's head as he slid into the car before moving round to the other side of the car and climbing in himself.

The two policemen were quiet as the car inched its way away from the harbour. Aaron gazed out of the window, his mind wandering; how could this have happened? The events of last summer had made them more careful, more aware of their surroundings, their behaviour, and yet here he was again, feeling dirty, defiled, his body and mind invaded. A sudden wave of nausea swept over him as he remembered the hands that had touched him, the thick fingers that had entered him.

"Can you stop a minute," he gasped, his mouth already beginning to fill with vomit.

Quickly the police car pulled to a stop; not waiting for Sergeant Pengelly, Aaron opened the door and scrambled out, going no distance before he bent and spewed, wretching on almost nothing.

Straightening, the sergeant was beside him. "Are you alright to go on lad? I can easily radio for an ambulance..."

"No, no I'll be okay," said Aaron. "I'd rather just get there, get it over with."

Even with the blue lights clearing the traffic from their path, the journey to the large county hospital along the narrow country lanes took almost forty minutes. The police car pulled up close to the Accident and Emergency entrance; immediately a figure in blue scrubs moved forwards to meet it, greeting Aaron and Sergeant Pengelly by name.

"I need to see Jackson," said Aaron as he was led quickly through to the assessment area.

"I'm afraid you can't, not just yet," said Sergeant Pengelly, stopping at the door to a clinical room. "He and your family are on their way here, they know you are safe, but the medical staff need to check you over and the police doctor will need to take samples. Then we'll need to have a chat with you, take a first statement...I'm sorry, but its procedure."

Aaron nodded and stepped further into the room and the waiting medical staff. Behind him the door closed with a soft thud.

"If you just slip all your clothes off and drop them into the bag," said the nurse, handing him a plastic bag. "Then put on the gown and lie up on the couch." She nodded encouragingly then closed the curtains that surrounded the couch.

Unsure what to do with the white suit, Aaron dropped it into the bag first, wearing only the tee shirt and jeans, it took only seconds for him to peel them off and toss them into the bag too.

From experience, he knew he had to put the gown on with the opening to his back, even so, he pulled it as tightly round him as he could before climbing onto the examination couch and pulling the small sheet over himself.

For a few more seconds he was on his own behind the screens; he could hear the medical staff moving quietly the other side of the curtains. He could feel his heart beginning to pound in anticipation of what was to come, what he couldn't escape from.

The curtain moved, admitting the nurse and two doctors into the small space.

The first examination was over quickly; his pulse and blood pressure was recorded, his pupil reaction checked, a form filled in for a skull x-ray. Then swabs were taken from his mouth, samples from under his fingernails, and then...

"I need you to roll onto your left side and draw your knees up to your chest," said the doctor. "I'm going to have a look first, then examine you with one finger. Then I'm going to introduce a small instrument to check inside. We'll take more swabs and it will be over in less than two minutes."

Aaron rolled onto his side, pulling his knees up as instructed. He held onto the sheet firmly pulling it up to his chin, his fingers gripping a twist of the cloth hard enough that his knuckles turned white.

He felt the coolness of the air against his skin as the sheet was moved, just enough to expose his arse again. But this was different, this time there were quiet words explaining, reassuring, this time the finger was lubed, gentle as it slid carefully inside him. The last bit, the thing, the instrument, was awkward, uncomfortable, made him feel full, made him feel like he needed to shit. But it was over quickly; then the sheet was tucked round him and he could breathe again.

"You have a couple of small tears down there, Aaron," said the doctor, moving round into his view. "We'll give you some cream and they'll heal quickly. Just try not to let yourself become constipated."

"Can I get a shower yet?" asked Aaron. "And what about getting out of here? I don't need to stay do I?"

"Well if your x-ray is clear, from my point of view you are free to go," said the doctor who had examined him, glancing at his colleague for confirmation. "And although you have to give a statement, I'm sure Sergeant Pengelly will wait a few minutes while you shower. Perhaps I could ask you to check nurse?" the doctor continued.

"Of course," said the nurse, quickly ducking from the room.

Aaron didn't move from the examination couch while he waited; he looked at the ceiling, at the square tiles crossing the ceiling, their speckled surface making abstract patterns. He wondered where Jackson was...and Archie.

"I'm sorry..." the nurse began, bustling back into the room.

"I'm sorry lad," Sergeant Pengelly said, entering behind her, "but there have been developments. I need your statement as quickly as possible." Even as he spoke, a second policeman came into the room behind him, making the space seem unbearably crowded until the medical staff left after a quick exchange of words.

"What's happened?" asked Aaron amid the sudden movement surrounding him, easing himself further up on the couch.

"The lad that was at the shed with you..." the sergeant began.

"Archie," interrupted Aaron. "How is he? Can I see him before I go?"

"I'm sorry...he didn't make it. He died a few minutes ago." The sergeant paused, letting his words sink in. "This is now a murder investigation."

"No! No he can't?" exclaimed Aaron. "He'd just bled a bit; he said it happened before but he was fine then..."

"He'd bled too much before he got here," explained Sergeant Pengelly gently. "They couldn't stop him bleeding and couldn't replace the blood he had lost quickly enough."

Aaron said nothing for a few moments; letting the words seep into his conscious mind, settle there. And all the time the thought that it could have been him ran riot in his head.

Sergeant Pengelly let his words sink in, watched the play of emotion across the younger man's face, giving him time to collect himself before he had to take him back through a difficult twenty-four hours.

"Okay," said Aaron. "Let's get this over with."


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

Jackson paced the floor; they had exchanged a waiting room at Police HQ for a waiting room at the hospital, he knew Aaron was close by, was safe, they had told them that much, but not being able to see for himself, to speak to him, to hold him, made each minute an eternity.

"Can you not keep still?" growled Cain menacingly. "We're all worried, but we're not all wearing the carpet out."

"Here," said Chas, fumbling in her handbag. "What about getting us all some coffee; I saw a tea bar as we came in."

"Coffee!" spat Cain. "Do you not think we've had enough coffee?"

"Oh ignore him, love," said Chas soothingly. "Here." She handed him a £10 note.

"I'll come with you," said Robbie, standing up from his seat next to Simonand moving towards the door behind Jackson.

The room they were in was close to the Accident and Emergency department, even with the door closed they had been able to hear the passing of quick feet outside, the trundle of trolleys across the floor. Now, as Jackson opened the door, they heard the sound of raised voices, urgent voices, calling one to another. Stepping out a little he saw a trolley being pushed into the department surrounded by paramedics in their distinctive green uniforms, by hospital staff in blue scrubs preparing to take over the care of the patient, by policemen trailing the trolley, clearly concerned about the new patient.

"Shit!" breathed Robbie, bumping into Jackson as he stopped suddenly in front of him. "What the hell has happened?"

"I don't know," replied Jackson, struggling to step back into the room.

"Out of the way," said Cain, pushing forward, "let me see." Jackson and Robbie moved, letting the older man look out into the busy corridor. "He's a copper," declared Cain, "they've got a copper hurt. I wonder if this is anything to do with Aaron?"

"What d'you mean?" asked Chas, her voice shrill. "They said he was safe, didn't they? He couldn't be involved."

"Yes, they said he was safe," said Finn, next to Chas, he put his hand reassuringly on her arm. "He's safe and I'm sure they'll let us see him soon."

Nodding, breathing deeply to calm herself, Chas sat again.

Everyone had forgotten about coffee, no one cared, their thoughts preoccupied, worried; waiting was becoming something of a trial.

Yet still they all jumped when the door opened a few minutes later. Constable Pascoe came into the room, closely followed by another officer.

"This is Sergeant Pengelly," he said. "He's been with Aaron since they found him this morning."

"How is he?" demanded Chas, jumping up.

"This is Miss Dingle, Aaron's mother," said Constable Pascoe, quickly introducing everyone to the Sergeant.

"So what can you tell us?" asked Cain. "When can we see him?"

"Soon, Mr Dingle, soon," said the sergeant calmly. "He's been examined by the doctors, now he's having a shower. He's still to have an x-ray and I need to clarify a few points on his statement as a matter of urgency. Once that's done, he'll be able to leave with you."

"Why so urgent?" demanded Cain, his tone suspicious. "Can he not go to a station tomorrow for this clarification?"

Sergeant Pengelly paused, glanced around at the faces looking expectantly at him.

"Normally, yes," he said. "But the lad who was brought in with Aaron died a short while ago. We are not sure yet who he is, or how he came to be with Aaron, but died of injuries received when he was raped yesterday."

Everyone spoke at once; a cacophony of noise, of disbelief, of protest.

"Never! My son would never do that!" screeched Chas, her distressed voice loudest.

"No, No!" said Sergeant Pengelly quickly. "There is absolutely no suggestion that Aaron was involved except as a victim."

"Victim?" questioned Finn quickly as everyone fell silent as fast as they had all spoken.

"There seems to have been some..." Sergeant Pengelly paused, choosing his words, "some sexual interference; the perpetrator being one of the men involved in the kidnapping. But this is now a murder enquiry, so I need to be absolutely clear about events as soon as possible."

"Okay," said Cain slowly. "So what's going on out here?" He nodded towards the door leading to the main A&E department.

Sergeant Pengelly sighed. "One of our officers has been shot, oh not seriously," he added quickly, "he's not in any danger. But he was part of the undercover team at the ransom drop trying to apprehend whoever came for the money. Unfortunately they were spotted and the two men got away. But these men are dangerous and we do need to catch them."

"Of course," said Finn when he saw that neither Cain nor Chas were going to speak. "Thank you for talking to us, sergeant.

Sergeant Pengelly nodded in acknowledgement. "One more thing," he said. "Do you have any of Aaron's clothes with you? The ones he was wearing had to go to forensics."

Sergeant Pengelly watched the rumble of negative replies run through them all.

"But we could go and get some," said Simon quickly.

"I'm sure he'd appreciate that," smiled the sergeant. "Now if you'll excuse me..."

"Sergeant?" said Finn quickly as the police officer turned to leave.

"Reverend Nicholson?" the tone of his voice directed Finn to continue.

"Is there a hospital chapel?"

"Yes; Constable Pascoe, perhaps you could show Reverend Nicholson the way?" said the sergeant.

They were all quiet for a few moments after the policemen and Finn had left; the sergeant's words preying on all their minds.

"Shall we just go then?" said Simon a little hesitantly. "Unless any of you want to," he added, looking towards Jackson, to Chas and Cain.

"No, no you're fine love," said Chas. "Thank you." Following her lead, Cain and Jackson both shook their heads.

Simon and Robbie stood, headed for the door. Greg made to follow them. "You guys okay if I come too," he asked.

"Yeah, of course," said Robbie, holding the door open for him.

Silence filled the room after Robbie, Simon and Greg had left, each of them occupied with their own thoughts.

Jackson looked at his watch; he wondered how long it would all take, for Aaron to finish giving his statement, to be finished with the police. How long until he could hold him in his arms again; he pushed the traitorous thought from his mind that Aaron might not welcome his touch, his embrace. Memories leaked back into his consciousness, their bodies bruised, the vivid evidence of another unpleasant encounter. He was desperate to see Aaron; he was terrified to see Aaron.


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Aaron stood in the shower, letting the hot water splash over him, but making no move to wash himself. He knew the police sergeant was waiting for him, that there would be more questions but he couldn't move from the cleansing spray just yet. His head was buzzing; so many thoughts tumbling one over the other, uppermost the fact that Archie was dead. Archie, who he had only met twenty-four hours before, who had been involved in kidnapping him, with whom he had shared so much. Who was dead.

He picked up the bar of soap and ran it over his short hair a couple of times, creating a lather before soaping the rest of his body. Looking down, catching site of himself, he was almost surprised that there was nothing to see; his body looked the same as it had before...before, a deep holiday tan leaving only a small tide mark of paler skin running round his hips. There was no mottled discolouration blotched across his body, there was no pain even, no memory in the muscles of his body of being invaded, even in such a small way as it had been. The memories were all in his head and were all of someone else.

At last he turned off the water, towelled himself dry and pulled on the blue scrubs that had been left out for him meantime. He unlocked the bathroom door and slipped out into the corridor; not far away he knew Sergeant Pengelly was waiting, he paused, biting his lip, gathering his strength, before walking the few steps to the small clinic room they had been allocated.

Sergeant Pengelly stood as he entered; there was another officer with him. The introductions were quickly made then they sat either side of a small table.

"Whenever you're ready, Aaron," said the sergeant gently. "I need you to tell us again what happened."

Aaron closed his eyes, he couldn't put it off any longer, but finding the words was so hard.

"I just went for a newspaper," he began.

...

He felt exhausted; physically and emotionally drained. He glanced at the clock; two hours, two hours of talking about it, thinking about it, remembering it, going over every detail. Re-living it. Again.

"You did well, Aaron," said Sergeant Pengelly truthfully. "Just the x-ray then you're free to go. Your friends will be back with clothes for you; I'll get your mum to bring them along."

"Actually," interrupted Aaron hesitantly. "Could you ask the Reverend Nicholson to bring them? I need a few minutes before I see my mum, Cain..." he paused, "...Jackson."

Sergeant Pengelly nodded, "of course," he said. "I'll get the nurse to see you to the x-ray department then go and find him."

A few minutes later, the sergeant watched him go, walking along the corridor, the nurse by his side. Sergeant Pengelly turned in the opposite direction and was quickly back at the room where the family were waiting.

"It won't be long now," he said as he entered the room and all eyes turned towards him. "He's away for his x-ray."

"How is he?" demanded Chas.

"Very well, Miss Dingle, considering," the sergeant smiled slightly, "though I think he will be glad to get out of here. Did you manage to get him some clothes?"

"Yes! Yes the boys did," began Chas, lifting the bags and standing up.

"Miss Dingle," began the sergeant, halting her movement. "Aaron has asked to see the Reverend Nicholson first," he glanced at Finn, still not quite believing the tall man with the mop of unruly blond curls in front of him was a minister; in his tee shirt and cuts off he looked like he would be more at home surfing on the north coast of the county. "If you want to bring the clothes, I'll take you to him."

Finn stood and took the bag from Chas, resting his hand briefly on her arm as he did so. "It won't be long Chas," he said quietly, looking into her eyes. "Just be patient for a few minutes more." He smiled gently, then glanced towards Jackson; Jackson he knew would understand.

The room the sergeant took him to was clinical and businesslike. "When he comes back from x-ray, that's him free to go," he said, "although if Aaron...if you...could stay at the site you are on for a couple more days that would be very helpful. Unless you need to head back north immediately?"

"I'm sure that will be fine," said Finn, "though I can't speak for Cain and Chas."

"It's really Aaron who needs to stay, in case we need to speak to him again," explained Sergeant Pengelly. "Constable Pascoe will keep in close contact with you in the next few days."

Behind them, the door clicked open, Aaron walked in.

"I'll leave you now," the sergeant said. "Aaron, I'll see you in the next few days, before you head home anyway." He held out his hand, shaking Aaron's warmly.

"Thanks sergeant," replied Aaron.

In seconds the policeman had left the room and Aaron and Finn were alone.

"Finn I..."began Aaron.

"Hush," said Finn, moving close to Aaron, putting his hands on his shoulders and gazing down into blue eyes swimming with unshed tears. "Get changed first, before anything else." He handed Aaron the bag of clothes.

Aaron took the bag from him and shook the clothes out on the examination couch, the ghost of a smile touching his lips as he saw the selection of tee shirts and shorts in front of him.

"At least they thought of pants too," he said quietly, picking up a multi pack of boxers.

He didn't bother closing the curtains around the couch, but quickly pulled off the scrubs, exchanging them for the first pair of boxers from the pack, the longest shorts and a dark tee shirt.

"Finn..." he began again awkwardly.

"Come with me," said Finn, opening the door.

Wordlessly Aaron followed him down several corridors that all looked the same. Soon Finn stopped at a door; he opened it then stood back, allowing Aaron to enter first.

After the harsh brightness of every other room in the hospital he had been in, this room was gently lit. A large, simple room, the walls warm bare brick, chairs laid out in rows; to the front, high on the wall, Aaron saw a cross coloured gold.

"It's not quite Hexham," said Finn quietly. "But sit...take some time, as long as you need." Saying nothing more, Finn slid into a seat; glancing up, he saw a man in a dark suit, a man he had spoken to earlier; he smiled gently, shaking his head a little.

Aaron sat in the row in front of Finn, aware of his presence behind him, glad of his sympathetic silence.

"My mum? Cain? They're here?" he asked eventually.

"They travelled down overnight," confirmed Finn

"Will you ask them," he began, "will you tell them...all of them...that I don't want to talk about it?" He didn't turn round.

"Of course," replied Finn quietly.

"I'm okay," said Aaron. "Really, I'm fine, I was lucky. Archie...Archie died."

"May he be at peace," murmured Finn.

"I don't think he knew much peace in his life," said Aaron. "That wasn't the first time Tiny had raped him. And do you know what's worse?" At last he turned to face Finn. "What we - you and Greg, Jackson and I - do for love and pleasure and lust, was pain and fear for him." He paused again, turning back to face the front. "Tiny made me go down on Archie, suck him off."

"But you had no choice, either of you," said Finn gently.

"Archie believed Tiny would kill us if...if we didn't do what he wanted."

"Sometimes survival...and surviving...is not easy," said Finn. "You must mourn him, grieve for him, but don't beat yourself up that you couldn't save him."

"It's not like I knew him or anything," said Aaron, becoming agitated. "It's not like he even meant anything to me!"

"But you shared an experience," said Finn gently. "And however much anyone else tries to empathise, to understand, no one but you and Archie know what it was like to live that experience. And now it impossible for you to support each other through it."

"He would likely have gone to jail though," said Aaron, "for the robbery, his part in it and I think there were others."

"Yes," agreed Finn. "But that would have been justice." He paused. "What happened to him...just wasn't. But there is nothing you can do to help him now, except what you have done; telling the police all you know to help catch his killer. Now you have to return to your life."

For a few moments Aaron sat in silence, then he stood and took a step towards the door.

"Just don't let them..." he began awkwardly.

"I won't," Finn reassured him, standing as well, looking at the younger man. "Oh come here!" Finn held his arms open.

In seconds Aaron was wrapped in the large, comforting embrace, his head against Finn's chest, feeling his friend's fingers gently rubbing his shoulder, giving him strength, strength he would need to face his family, his friends. Jackson.

"Are you ready?" asked Finn quietly.

"No," replied Aaron. Reluctantly he stepped out of Finn's arms. "But I can't put it off any longer."

They left the small chapel and walked down corridors that to Aaron's eyes all looked the same but Finn strode out, sure of his direction. In a few minutes he stopped outside a door.

"Is this it?" questioned Aaron, unable to banish the dread he felt from his voice.

"No," said Finn. "This is a bathroom. They're across the corridor there," he pointed. "But go in there, go to the loo or something; give me a minute or two."

Aaron squinted at him, puzzled.

"I don't want to be lying when I say you are in the loo," explained Finn apologetically.

Aaron glanced once at the door Finn had pointed out, then smiled at his friend before slipping into the bathroom.

Finn stood for a minute before crossing to open the door into the room they had been in for what felt like hours.

"He's just in the loo," he said, walking into the room, his words cutting across the shrill outburst from Chas, the more growling questions from Cain and the concern of his friends. "But just give him some space. Oh he's alright," he added quickly, "just don't bombard him with questions."

"But did he say anything to you...anything about what happened?" asked Chas.

"He mostly talked about the lad who died," said Finn.

"But..." began Chas.

"But nothing, Chas," Finn firmly cut her off. "He's alright, but he doesn't want to be asked for details, so don't push him." He looked at her intently. "And don't punish him by asking," he added more gently.

Finn glanced at Jackson; he had been so quiet, his head must be full of memories and he must have been worried sick. Finn let his thoughts stray to Greg...if anything happened to him, anything like Aaron had just been through - and he suspected Aaron had only told him a little of it - would he be able to cope as well; to wait, to find the strength just to be there for him. Finn looked into Jackson's dark eyes and tried to convey some kind of reassurance.

"Aaron!"

The door opened; hardly had he stepped into the room than Chas swooped on him, clutching him hard against her body.

"Oh Aaron son! Let me look at you," she cried still holding him close until with a gentle shrug, Aaron eased himself free of her suffocating embrace.

"It's good to see you," growled Cain, his eyes holding Aaron's steadily, saying all that he couldn't say in words.

At last Aaron could look towards Jackson, still waiting at the far side of the room, their eyes locked; a hesitant half smile touched Aaron's lips, unsure of its reception.

Jackson looked back at Aaron, still Aaron; an answering quiet smile spread gently across his face, his chocolate brown eyes coming to life.

"I think perhaps we should get out of here," said Finn.


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

Aaron and Jackson slid into the back seat of Cain's car; Aaron would have preferred to travel with Finn, Greg, Simon and Robbie but Chas was adamant that he travelled with them. They were following the camper van though, once out of the city, back through the winding country lanes to the site at the farm where they were to stay for a few more days.

Chas talked; heeding Finn's words, she said nothing about Aaron's recent experience, instead keeping up a running commentary on the view from the car, on the delightful countryside they were driving through, on the news from Emmerdale in the time that they had been away on holiday. Cain drove, silently, only occasionally commenting, growling at Chas's verbosity.

In the back seat, Aaron and Jackson sat silently; they had hardly spoken since leaving the hospital, instead they gazed out of their windows, almost appearing to ignore each other. Between them, the bag of new clothes balanced, conveniently hiding their fingers entwined and caressing, rubbing and reassuring, linking each to the other again.

The journey to the farm seemed endless; the slow stop-start diving down lanes not built for high season holiday traffic was tedious, but eventually they turned into the drive, past the entrance to the sea view caravan park and beyond the farm buildings to where the two other vans waited for them. The camper van drew into the position it had occupied overnight as Cain parked next to it.

Seeing the vans, seeing Jackson's blue van, relief swept through Aaron; he just wanted to go inside, with Jackson, and shut the rest of the world out. If it had just been Robbie and Simon, Finn and Greg, they would have understood; Chas never could.

It was late in the afternoon, but still the sun was warm; very quickly blankets were dragged out and spread on the ground.

"Beer anyone?" asked Robbie, emerging from their van with a number of cans caught together with plastic.

"Definitely," answered Aaron, lifting his hand to accept a can. He was lying with Jackson, his head cradled in his lap, enjoying the sensation of Jackson's fingers lazily rubbing through his short hair.

"Should you?" questioned Chas.

"Oh don't start," snapped Aaron. "I'm not ill and if I want a beer - a beer - I'll have it"

"Oi!" growled Cain. "Watch it! She's just worried about you."

"Well I'm fine," snarled Aaron, sitting up and defiantly pinging the ring pull of the can.

"Who's this coming?" asked Cain, nodding towards two figures coming towards them.

"That's Ellen, Constable Pascoe's sister," said Simon, squinting into the sunshine.

The small, dumpy woman came up to them, followed by a lad who could only be her son, so strong was the resemblance between them.

"Our Eddy said you would be back," she said, smiling around. "Glad you're safe lad," she nodded towards Aaron, accepting his silent acknowledgement. "Now I've done you a bit of dinner, it's nothing much, chicken, a bit of salad from the garden and our own potatoes, they're all wrapped in foil, they'll be fine and warm. Then there's a bit of my home baking too, for afters."

"Thanks Ellen," said Finn, with Greg at his side, moving to take the plates and bags from her and her son. "You really shouldn't have bothered."

"It's no bother; you've other things on your mind. How are you bearing up dear?" She looked towards Chas. "Mum and dad? What a worrying time you've had."

"Erm...yes...thank you," said Chas. "But at least he's back now, safe and sound."

"Indeed, that's the main thing," agreed Ellen. "Now, where are you both staying? You'll not want to squeeze into any of the vans with the young lads," she chuckled. "We've got a spare room; you're very welcome to it, just come over to the farm once you've had a bite to eat and I'll show you."

"Er..yes..," began Chas, unsure quite how to respond.

"That's very kind of you...Ellen was it," said Cain smoothly, rising to shake her hand. "We'll gladly take you up on your offer."

"What's up with you," Aaron questioned him as Ellen disappeared out of earshot.

"Nothing," answered Cain. "But your mother's not going to want to leave you, tonight at least. And we drove all last night so we're both shattered anyway. Don't worry; we won't cramp your style."

Aaron looked away, awkwardness flooding through him. "I don't know, I'm not sure after..."he let the words fade into nothingness.

"Oi!" said Cain, his voice quiet enough to reach only Aaron's ears but demanding his attention. "He's your boyfriend; he cares about you and has probably been through his own hell this last twenty four hours. Don't shut him out, get through this together, however hard it is."

Aaron nodded then turned to where the food was being spread out, ready for all to tuck in.

At last, with the late summer twilight finally fallen, Aaron and Jackson shut the door of the van, shut out their friends, Chas and Cain, the world; at last they were alone.

...

It was dark in the van but they didn't bother to switch on any of the battery lamps they had brought with them. It had been a strange evening, so often it seemed someone was on the edge of speaking but in the end had said nothing. Chas and Cain had sat for a while longer after they had finished eating and had then made their way to the farm house. It had been warm enough to sit outside until the light had almost faded completely.

Perched on the edge of the mattress, Aaron quickly slipped off his shorts, leaving them crumpled where they dropped, but keeping on his boxers and tee shirt, he slid under the covers, pulling them up close under his chin, despite the heat.

"Can I come under the covers with you?" asked Jackson quietly, standing over the mattress bed, looking down at Aaron.

"Of course," said Aaron, "you're sure?" he added.

"Where else would I want to be?" asked Jackson gently.

"Jay...I need to tell you..."

"You don't have to," interrupted Jackson quickly.

"No. I do," said Aaron, "or else it will be between us. But I need to just tell you everything, straight through without interruptions."

"Okay," agreed Jackson, "but let me hold you." Copying Aaron, he slipped off only his shortsand slid under the covers. Tentatively he slid his arm underneath Aaron's shoulders pulling him close, gently hugging him.

For a while, Aaron said nothing, just lay, feeling Jackson next to him, his body warm against him in the heat of the van, the quilt still pulled up close around them. It felt so good to be held again, to feel safe. Eventually, his voice quiet, his words faltering at first, Aaron began to speak.

Jackson lay, listening, biting his lip, hating every word Aaron had to utter, the experience he had endured; guilty that he was glad that it had been the other man, the unknown man, who had died, yet knowing that for Aaron, that would be hard too.

At last Aaron stopped speaking; for a moment silence fell on the van, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

Jackson moved, easing his achingly numb arm, easing his body around until he was lying on his stomach, looking down at Aaron, able to see his eyes bright even in the half light of the van.

"It's okay," he whispered, bending his head, letting his lips brush across Aaron's forehead. "It wasn't your fault, none of it...you were trying to help," Jackson let his fingers slowly move across Aaron's temple, gently rubbing, small circular movements of comfort, of closeness. "You did help," he continued, "both of them...Jenny, the girl in the shop and Archie, you tried to help him get through..." Jackson paused, searching for the right words, "...what you were made to do. And even if you had known how badly hurt he was, there was nothing you could have done about it."

"I suppose," agreed Aaron reluctantly although he knew Jackson was right. What could he have done, locked up. Even Archie himself hadn't realised how badly he was hurt; exhausted, he had just tried to grab a few minutes rest before the Boss, Tiny or Fetch had come back; he had just gone to sleep.

Jackson changed position again and gently began to rub his fingers over Aaron's shoulder, feeling the outline of his muscles through the thin material of his tee shirt. Tentatively he pushed up the sleeve of his tee shirt could feel the tension beneath him as he slowly moved his fingers over the bare skin at his arms; he bent and dropped a first kiss on his arm.

"Do you mind?" he whispered between tiny butterfly kisses.

"No," replied Aaron.

He had answered no, but Jackson could hear the uncertainty, the fear, in his voice and beside him, his body was rigid with apprehension.

Quietly, Jackson continued covering the little of his body that he could reach with kisses, soft, slow, gentle kisses, trying to thaw the fear in his lover's mind.

At last he sat up, then pulled off his tee shirt; in the dim light he sat quite still, letting his near nakedness settle between them.

"Touch me," breathed Aaron. "Make love to me," his voice caught, halted; he stopped speaking, struggling to bring his emotions under control. "I want you; I want to be yours again." He could feel the pounding of his heart inside him, feel the terrified apprehension flooding through him but even in the dim light he could see the single nod of Jackson's head.

Jackson was almost shaking as he reached out and began to ease Aaron's tee shirt up; he bit his lip, trying to steady his breathing as he pulled it off completely then awkwardly dragged his own boxers from his arse, shaking his legs to fling them free of the material, all the while not taking his eyes from Aaron's face, watching him, trying to read his thoughts, his feelings. He made no attempt to remove Aaron's boxers. Still holding his eyes, he stretched out beside him; once, twice he stroked Aaron's face with his the tips of his fingers then bent his head until their lips met, barely touching as he kissed him. Jackson felt the moments it took Aaron to respond, to return the kiss, his lips slowly moving with his own.

Hesitantly Jackson pushed the very tip of his tongue between Aaron's lips, just once, flicking in and out, then stopped, pulled back, fearing it had been too much. Beside him, Aaron moved, slid one arm behind Jackson and hugged him closer. He hesitated then, hiding his head against Jackson's shoulder for a second, trying to push aside the pictures, the memories, crowding, unwelcome, into his head. Suddenly he responded, returning the kiss, pushing his own tongue into Jackson's mouth, briefly tentatively; scared yet needing too. Their kissing deepened, renewing the connection between them, their tongues meeting as they held their bodies close against each other.

Jackson knew he was getting hard, desire surging through his body; he wanted Aaron so much but he twisted a little, needing to keep the evidence of his arousal away from Aaron until he was sure...really sure. Instead he let his fingers begin to trail lightly over Aaron's chest, gentle, repetitive strokes, avoiding his nipples, avoiding touching him too much, too quickly.

For a while they did nothing more, only sharing soft kisses as Jackson ran his hand gently over Aaron's skin. He could feel the tension in him; feel him holding his body taut, rigid with nerves.

Only slowly, so slowly, did he feel Aaron begin to relax into his touch, the gentle, safe caresses thawing his anxiety. At last, slowly, hesitantly Aaron began to touch Jackson in return, his hands moving shyly over his skin.

Unable to help himself, Jackson groaned as Aaron's fingers made contact, set his skin alight.

"Aaron," he whispered. "You said...do you want...?" He hesitated, holding his breath for a second, feeling Aaron tense again in his arms. "I won't hurt you - I just want you to be mine again."

Turing his head, Aaron looked into Jackson's eyes; even in the subdued light he could see the gentleness there, the care and concern. Quickly, not giving himself time to think, he caught Jacksons's hand and moved it downwards, hesitating for only a second before pushing it right down onto his cock.

Jackson felt the shock, the shudder that ripped through him as Aaron pushed his hand onto himself, saw his eyes tight shut now. He tried to pull back, to stop, but Aaron pushed harder, forcing his hand to remain touching him.

"S'okay," gasped Aaron, "keep going."

It was permission, reassurance Jackson needed to hear; he touched Aaron properly then, holding him, gripping, beginning to move his hand, beginning the strokes that he knew could bring Aaron to the brink, to release

Aaron sobbed, "Fuck me Jay! Please! Just find the lube and fuck me!"

"Aaron, I don't know...I'm not sure..."

"Do it Jay, just do it!" Aaron opened his eyes; even in the half light of the van Jackson could see the glitter of tears, flooding, waiting to fall. Moving, he bent his knees, lifting his legs, trying to raise them onto Jackson's shoulders.

"Wait then," Jackson put his hand to Aaron's legs, halting his movements. "Let me find the lube first." He stretched, reaching out, his hand feeling around, under the mattress until by touch alone he found the lube

Resting back, he gently put his fingers to Aaron's face. "You really want this?" he whispered. "We don't have to..."

"I want you inside me Jay." Tears were flowing now, falling unheeded down his face.

"Okay, okay," whispered Jackson gently; he leant forward, lying on top of him, letting him now rest his legs over his shoulders, along his back. Resting on one elbow, his hand stroked Aaron's face, even as his other hand, his fingers lubed, reached for his arse.

"I'll be gentle," he whispered, "so gentle, can you feel me? I'm touching you, I'm going to slide my fingers down, get you ready." Underneath him, he could feel Aaron moving, beginning to relax again as he kept up a quiet stream of reassuring words, as his fingers smeared the thick gel around Aaron's hole, feeling it tense, pucker, preparing to open under his touch. He slid one finger inside, holding his breath.

"You ok?" asked Jackson. His cock was hard, wanting Aaron, aching to enter him, but he needed to make sure Aaron was coping with the closeness, the intimacy, with his finger, beginning to move.

"Yes," breathed Aaron, "just do it."

"You're sure," asked Jackson again, he slid his finger out and almost unconsciously pushed his hips forward as he spoke until he could feel the slight resistance of Aaron's arse against his cock. He looked down, Aaron had his eyes closed again but the tears that had fallen were drying now on his cheeks. He pushed, gasping as with one sharp thrust he entered him, struggling to keep his movements gentle, measured, his cock sliding easily into his lover.

Aaron held his breath as he felt Jackson enter him, fill him, take him. It felt nothing like...nothing like those cruel fingers invading him. Suddenly, almost unexpectedly his body was responding to the sensuous movement, the rhythmic pulse of Jackson possessing him, pulling back a little then pushing in again. The feelings were taking over his body, his mind, nothing else mattered but the sensations flooding through him, overwhelming him, as their movements synchronised and grew together.

Reaching out, Jackson grasped Aaron's hard cock, the final touch that brought them completely together, united them as their bodies, their minds soared, a physical and mental crescendo of sensation overwhelming them until quivering, they lay, exhausted in each other's arms.

"Thank you," sighed Aaron as his breathing returned to normal.

"What for?" murmured Jackson, pulling Aaron closer to him.

"For helping me to...to banish some demons," said Aaron, "to be yours again"

Jackson stretched contentedly. "You are always mine," he said firmly. "And nothing and no one can change that."

Aaron curled his body harder against Jackson, letting their legs twist together under the tumbled cover as his fingers played slowly across his chest. His skin was soft as his fingers moved gently over it, tracing small circles, following the lines of his shoulder, the hollow of his neck to the soft hairs covering his chin.

Turning his head, Jackson caught a single finger in his mouth, between his teeth, holding it as he looked into Aaron's eyes.

"How tired are you?" asked Aaron.


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

Heavy thumping at the door of the van woke them; through the windscreen they could see it was bright daylight although they had no idea of the time.

"I've got coffee here if you want it?" called Simon loudly.

"Yeah, thanks," called back Jackson sleepily.

"You'd better be decent," said Simon, opening the door of the van.

"Decent enough," replied Jackson, sitting up, shoving an even sleepier Aaron as he did so.

"So long as you're okay with me coming into the van," said Simon, climbing carefully into the van holding the two mugs of coffee in one hand. "Feet," he said, pushing at Aaron's legs, demanding space to perch at the end of the mattress.

"Just keep hold of the coffee for a minute," said Jackson. "I need to go for a pee." He leaned over the edge of the mattress, hunting for the first pair of shorts that came to hand to pull on.

Wriggling a little, he pulled them on under the covers before edging past Simon and out of the van.

"You ok?" Simon asked Aaron once they were alone together.

"Yeah," replied Aaron, pushing himself up enough to take his mug of coffee from Simon. "It was a bit strange at first last night, but Jackson was great."

"It's a good man you've got there," reflected Simon. "You've been through a lot together, but if you ever need someone else...someone not so involved...you know where I am."

"Thanks Si," said Aaron, a wry half smile touching his lips.

"Anytime kid," smiled Simon in return. "But now you need to get yourself out of your pit; Mrs Farmer's Wife Ellen has already been over with supplies so Finn and Greg are doing breakfast and it won't be too long."

Aaron shifted in the bed then lifted his arm, smelling himself.

"I stink. I should get a shower or something," he said.

"Well I can't smell you from here," said Simon cheerfully.

"That's something then," replied Aaron, not sharing the thought that he could still pick up the smell of his captivity on his body despite his hospital shower, despite spending the night with Jackson. "Pass me that tee shirt then," he nodded towards the discarded dark tee shirt just out of his reach.

In seconds he had pulled on his clothes, in a few more they were outside the van.

"Oh! That wasn't there last night, was it?" asked Aaron, squinting in the bright sunlight at a large picnic bench that had appeared in the space between the vans.

"Ellen's husband brought it up first thing," said Finn, "I'm surprised you didn't hear the tractor. He sorted an electrical hook up for the vans too. It will be easier as we've got to stay around for a few days."

"I'm sorry," began Aaron, "the holiday...it's kinda wrecked now."

"Don't be daft," said Simon, gently bumping his shoulder against him. "You're safe, that's the main thing and if we have to hang around here for a few days...well it's as good a place as anywhere to be based. And you need a few days to just chill out, we're nice and private tucked away here, so don't worry about it."

Before Aaron could answer, Finn and Greg emerged from their camper van carrying plates loaded with food.

"Ellen's own chicken's eggs," said Greg, placing a plate of sunny side up fried eggs on the picnic table.

"Her neighbour, the pig farmer's sausages and bacon," continued Finn, "but don't tell her husband because he just loves them and there's none left for his breakfast! And there is homemade bread and jam or marmalade too. We need more plates though and cutlery."

"I'll get ours," said Jackson, returning to their small camp. Quickly he scrambled in through the open back doors of the van, emerging moments later with two plates, mugs and a handful of cutlery.

The food was good, the company at ease with each other, comfortable not talking as they made short work of the breakfast feast spread across the table.

"Does anyone want to do anything, go anywhere in particular today?" asked Finn once they had finished eating and had made more coffee, his gaze taking them all in but coming to rest on Aaron.

"I don't want to go far," said Aaron quickly.

"Ellen says if we walk through the main part of the campsite, there is a path that leads down to the beach, takes about ten minutes," said Greg. "We could go there, spend the day on the beach?"

"That would do me," said Aaron.

"We could do with a bit more food and stuff," said Robbie. "Simon and I could go; there's still plenty of money in the kitty."

"You don't mind?" questioned Greg.

"Nah," said Robbie. "If we go to that big supermarket we saw yesterday we can stock up then not have to worry for a good few days."

It was quickly organised; a list written and Robbie and Simon left. With them gone, Jackson and Greg gathered together a lunch to take to the beach, placed in bags along with towels, swimming shorts and sun block.

They were about to leave when Jackson's phone rang, glancing at it, he didn't recognise the number.

"Hello," he answered tentatively.

Watching him, Aaron realised Jackson knew whoever it was who had phoned him, watching the play of expressions across his face, he tried to guess who it might be.

"Yes, yes, okay," said Jackson. "We'll be here." He clicked to end the call. "That was the police, Constable Pascoe. Sergeant Pengelly and DCI Thompson are on their way, they need to speak to you."

Aaron felt his heart sinking; why? Why did they need to see him again so soon? Could they not even let him have one day's peace?

"We'll wait with you," said Finn, seeing the sweep of disappointment, the signs of strain return to his face.

"If they are on their way, it won't be too long before they're here," said Greg reasonably, "so we might as well wait and then all find out way down to the beach together."

"If you're sure," began Aaron hesitantly.

Of course we are," said Finn decisively. "We can sit in the sun here for a bit just as easily as down on the beach."

"I think I'll go and get a quick shower before they arrive," said Aaron.

A few minutes later he was crossing their small field towards the nearest shower block in the main part of the camp site carrying a bag containing clean clothes, a towel and the smelliest shower gel Jackson had with him. Sniffing it before throwing it into the bag, Aaron smiled a little to himself, glad for once of Jackson's liking for smelly shower gel.

He could feel his skin pricking with tension, with apprehension, as he walked away from their small field with the familiar vans. It felt strange being on his own again, Jackson had wanted to walk over with him but he refused; it was only two days, two long days, since he had stopped to get a newspaper yet it felt like a lifetime. A death time; he shook his head, trying to rid it of memories, of pictures of Archie.

The shower block was modern and clean; Aaron was relieved to find it empty as he walked in, picked a cubicle and shut the door behind him He pulled off his clothes before switching on the water, glad to find it was full flowing and hot. Stepping into the water, he let it cascade over his body, relishing the heat of it despite the heat of the day, despite knowing that he would soon be sweating again in the hot sunshine.

The very fragrant smell of the shower gel filled his nostrils as he squeezed a generous amount from the bottle onto his hand, smearing it across his chest before squeezing a second handful and adding it to the first, spreading them both over himself, covering his body, his hair, with the thick scented lather.

Eventually, reluctantly, he turned the cleansing water off and grabbed his towel; he could have easily stayed longer but he wanted at least a few minutes before the two policemen arrived.

He was relieved to see no waiting police car as he walked back towards their small camp. Finn and Greg were sitting in deckchairs, their feet resting on the bench of the picnic table, Jackson stretched on the grass beside them, his eyes closed, a magazine discarded at his side.

Aaron flung his bag into the back of the van and dropped to the blanket beside Jackson. Jackson didn't move, didn't appear to register his arrival, only his hand shifted slightly until it found Aaron's and their fingers twisted together.

"Feel better?" asked Finn.

"Yeah," replied Aaronit was a half truth, almost the truth; it didn't seem possible that he would ever feel truly clean again.But he supposed he would, remembering last year, eventually had had felt his body his own again, but he didn't need to share that thought, that memory, just now.

"Anyone want a drink," asked Greg. "Juice, coffee?"

"If there's a tin of juice, I wouldn't mind one," replied Aaron.

"Me too," murmured Jackson, still not opening his eyes.

Greg stood and went into the van he shared with Finn, returning a minute later with four cans of juice, passing them between the other men.

Their silence amid the noise around them, the lazy song of birds, the occasional busy buzzing of bees, was peaceful. In the distance, voices could sometimes be heard, from farm or campsite, it was hard to tell. Above them, the sun was hot, bright behind their closed eyes, a delicious warm sleepiness seeping through their bodies.

The noise of the car, slowly making its way across the field, gradually disturbed the peace of the morning. Finn opened his eyes, squinting into the sunshine and saw the 4x4 in the distinctive police colours coming towards them.

"Aaron," he murmured. "That's them."

Aaron lifted his head and looked towards the vehicle coming towards them. He sat up; beside him Jackson moved and eased himself into a sitting position.

The 4x4 drew to a halt, Sergeant Pengelly and a man Aaron didn't recognise got out and walked towards the now standing friends.

"This is DCI Thompson," said Sergeant Pengelly, beginning the introductions. "You've met Jackson before sir, this is Aaron Livesy, the Reverend Finn Nicholson and Greg Cameron

The men shook hands then sat again, all at the picnic table.

"Aaron, I'm glad you're safe and glad to meet you although I regret it has been under these circumstances. How are you now?"

"I'm okay, thanks," replied Aaron noncommittally. "Getting there," he qualified as the DCI let a shrewd eye rest on him a moment longer than perhaps was necessary and he felt his very soul being scrutinised.

"Umm," mused the DCI, "good." He paused, prepared to leave that conversation behind, accepting Aaron's assessment. "Well this isn't entirely a social visit and I'm afraid the news isn't such as I had hoped to bring you. We know the identity of the men who kidnapped you Aaron; they come from a number of miles down the coast, they are all related, cousins, second cousins and have a long history of being involved in crime across the county."

Aaron said nothing, he felt sick; Archie! Archie had been raped, murdered by a member of his own family.

"We had hoped to apprehend some of them yesterday at the ransom handover," the DCI continued speaking. "Unfortunately, as you know, an officer was shot and the two men, we believe they were the ones you knew as the Boss and Tiny, got away." He looked round at the intent faces watching him. "They seem to have disappeared; they've not been seen around their homes or usual haunts. Of course we are continuing our enquiries...but at the moment I am not hopeful of catching them."

"Thank you for letting us know," said Finn, breaking the short, awkward silence after the DCI finished speaking.

"It does mean we don't need to ask you to stay locally any longer," explained DCI Thompson. "So if you want to continue your holiday, that's fine with us. We have all your contact details, should we need to speak with you again, although Aaron, if you could update Sergeant Pengelly if you get a new number, that would be helpful."

Aaron nodded. "When is the funeral?" he asked quietly.

"The day after tomorrow," said Sergeant Pengelly, "eleven o'clock, but I wouldn't..."

"No," said Aaron interrupting quickly. "I didn't mean going to the service, but afterwards...just to pay my respects."

Sergeant Pengelly nodded and began writing on a piece of loose paper in his notebook.

"Here, this is the village; it's just a small place, you'll find the church easily enough, the burial ground is just beside it." He handed Aaron the piece of paper.

The two policemen left soon afterwards, leaving the four friends at the picnic table, for a few minutes, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

"Does anyone mind if we stay another couple of days?" asked Aaron eventually.

"Fine by us," said Greg, his eyes catching Finn's, checking that Finn agreed with him, although he knew there was no real doubt of that.

"I'm sure Ellen and her husband won't mind," said Finn. "We'll offer them something for the pitches anyway."

"I'm surprised Chas and Cain didn't appear when the police came," said Aaron. "I suppose I'd better go and find them, tell them what the cops said, see what their plans are now."

"No need," said Jackson, nodding beyond them.

Turning, they saw Chas and Cain walking across the field towards them.

"We saw them leaving," said Cain with no preamble.

"We saw them arrive as well," snapped Chas.

"And knew that Aaron was quite capable of speaking to them," said Cain. "Didn't we?" he added.

Chas made a noise, a small exclamation of exasperation. "So what did they want?" she asked.

Between them, they recounted the conversation with the police officers.

"So that's it?" questioned Chas angrily. "They're doing nothing else?"

"They're not closing the case Chas," said Finn gently. "They'll keep looking for them; it's just at the moment..."

"At the moment they haven't got a clue!" exclaimed Chas. "And these...these animals...are getting away with what they did to Aaron."

For a few seconds, no one spoke; there was no real argument against Chas's words.

"So what are your plans now?" asked Cain, accepting a mug of coffee that Greg placed in front of him.

"We thought we'd stay another couple of days then move on somewhere," said Finn.

"We're not going home until the end of our holiday," Aaron protested quickly.

"All right, keep your hair on! Was I asking you to?" said Cain quickly. "Just wanted to know what you were doing."

"What about you?" asked Finn.

"We're heading back tonight," said Cain. "Though we'd leave after tea, be home early hours."

"But we'll spend some time with you today," said Chas quickly. "We could go down to the beach or something."

"That would be nice," said Jackson, earning himself a glare from Aaron. Ignoring him, he continued speaking. "Robbie and Simon should be back from the shops soon, then we'll have stuff to make up a picnic."

"Right, that's settled," said Cain, standing up, leaving his now empty mug on the table. "An hour or so then and we'll meet you by the main site."

"I'll walk back with you," said Finn, "I need a word with Ellen." It wasn't a lie, but he saw no need to mention that he also wanted a chance to speak to Chas and Cain on their own.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Aaron rounded on Jackson.

"What did you say that for?" he growled, "that it would be nice to spend time with them? Have a picnic?"

Jackson looked at Aaron, he knew things were not always easy between the three of them; Aaron and Chas had never had an close relationship and there was a deep seated, lasting resentment on Aaron's part at what he saw as his mother's abandonment for the years he left him living with his difficult father. Supposed father; the revelations earlier in the year that in fact Cain was Aaron's father had shocked them all and they were still all trying to adjust to the changing dynamics of their lives.

"They want to spend time with you, whatever I said," replied Jackson reasonably. "They were worried sick; just give them these few hours." His dark eyes held Aaron's blue ones, seeing the moment that Aaron agreed, accepted.

"Okay, I know you're right - as usual - just don't let them...you know," said Aaron wearily, rubbing his fingers across his forehead, pressing against his eyes for a moment.

"I won't, I promise," said Jackson. "And everyone will be there; it'll be fine."

Aaron looked at him, a faint smile touching his lips.


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

"How are you both?" asked Finn as they walked away from the two vans.

"Fine," replied Cain quickly.

"Fibber!" exclaimed Chas. "You hardly slept last night and your hands were shaking when you were looking at him earlier."

Cain glared at her. "You're dreaming," he snapped.

"I'm not though," she said more quietly, her gaze steady.

"We're all still in shock," said Finn. "Even though he's back safely with us, our minds are still in overdrive with what might have been."

"It shouldn't have happened though," said Cain. "Not to him - not to anyone - but after last year...he should have thought..." he left the rest of the sentence unsaid, his mind straying back a year.

"But that's just it," said Finn, "he didn't think, he just acted on impulse when the young woman in the shop was being attacked. He was trying to help."

"Yes I know," replied Chas, beginning to whine. "But why does he hate us so much?"

"He doesn't hate you," said Finn, a smile in his voice. "He doesn't understand you - but I think that is true of all children and their parents."

"But he hates being with us," said Chas. "You saw how he looked when I said we'd spend the day with him; he wished the ground would open up and swallow us whole!"

"Oh Chas!" Finn laughed. "He's got issues - and you know that as well as I do - but at the moment he's just terrified you are going to give him the third degree over what has happened."

"I think not knowing - imagining - is probably worse than knowing," said Cain quietly. "Last night...it was the pictures in my head that kept me awake."

"I think we all feel a little like that," said Finn gently. "But we need to give him space - and time - he may tell us when he feels ready...or he may never tell us. No!" he shook his head, seeing the thought run through Chas's mind, the question form on her lips. "No, he's told me very little about what happened. For now, all of us just need to keep things normal."

"But it's you – all of you - he wants to be with," persisted Chas.

Finn stopped walking and turned to look at the older woman.

"Chas! He's a twenty year old lad! Don't read more into his behaviour than there is to it." He linked his arm through hers and began to walk again. "One day I'll show you pictures of me from my early twenties – I'll even introduce you to my mum and she can tell you what I was like, what she had to put up with...you've got it easy!"

Chas laughed, missing the glance Finn threw towards Cain, missing the concern flick across his face as he looked at the other man.

At the farmhouse, Ellen, as usual, produced tins of home baking, comfortably prepared to gossip over steaming mugs of coffee in her large homely kitchen. In no time she had reassured Finn that they could stay as long as they wanted in the field and of course they wouldn't want a penny from them; she was just glad the lad was safe.

At last Finn was able to make his escape, pushing his chair back from the table.

"Thanks Ellen," he said, leaving as she was engaged in earnest conversation with Chas.

"I just need something from the car," said Cain quickly following Finn from the room and out of the building.

The car was parked a short distance away, but Cain made no move towards it, only kicked abstractly at the stones pressed into the compacted earth of the drive. Finn walked a step or two beyond him then stopped, aware that he wanted to speak, content to give him time to find the words he was searching for.

"I've never been able to look out for him, keep him safe," Cain mused quietly, thinking out loud, talking to himself as much as to Finn. "In fact, I've been pretty crap as far as being a father goes, to him and Debbie both."

"But you've only known you were his father for a few months," replied Finn reasonably. "Before that you were a pretty decent uncle as far as I understand it."

"And I still wasn't able to keep him safe," snapped Cain.

"You can't wrap him up in cotton wool," said Finn. "He's been his own person for years, learning to be responsible for his own actions, his own safety."

"Yes, but..."

"No," interrupted Finn, "there was nothing you could have done."

"Do you know," began Cain, "I find it hard enough to get my head round what you - all of you – do...but the thought of some bloke...forcing him..."

"He wasn't raped," said Finn, "I know that's what the police said, but I think we would know if he had been." Finn paused, thinking. "His distress is all for what happened to the other lad, he's focusing on that rather than on whatever happened to him. And I guess we need to be glad for that, though, God help me, I hate myself for even thinking that."

"But what happens later, when he starts thinking about what happened to him?" asked Cain.

"Then we deal with it," said Finn simply. "Between us, all of us, we'll do whatever we need to. But for now, all we can do is to be there for him." He looked into the dark, troubled eyes. "And don't let the pictures in your head torment you, just thank – whoever – that he is safe. I'm always here…if you need to talk.

Cain nodded. "Talking's not really my thing," he said wryly.

Finn held out his hand, his blue eyes dancing as he surveyed the man in front of him, understanding him, perhaps more than he realised.

"Anytime," said Finn as they shook hands before walking their separate ways.

...

It was actually alright, thought Aaron looking round, everyone was ignoring him; well not ignoring him, but the questions he had dreaded, dripped in at first, becoming a torrent, had not happened. Beyond the sheltered sandy spot where they had spread their towels and beach blankets, Aaron could see Chas splashing along in the shallow water, the small white horses on the waves crashing against her bare legs; she was wearing a pair of shorts a few sizes too big for her, borrowed from Ellen he assumed, and a tight vest top, dark in places where the water had splashed onto it. Beside her, Simon kicked at the water, arching it in front of him, the bright sunlight catching on each drop. They were talking, laughing, their minds obviously far from him.

Aaron silently breathed a sigh of relief. Nearby Finn and Cain were engrossed in a conversation about cars; he hadn't been listening, but he had heard enough to know that Cain was answering an onslaught of questions about Finn's beloved Triumph. He smiled to himself, that car was in perfect condition, running like a dream; he should know, he had spent hours working on the engine the last time they had been to Hexham for the weekend. He knew Finn was keeping Cain out of his hair and he was glad. What he couldn't know and didn't hear, was that their conversation strayed far beyond a car, however much that car was loved.

Next to him, Jackson lay face down; his head resting on his folded arms, turned to one side, his eyes were closed. He was naked except for his swimming shorts; he had been in the water and was now letting the sun dry his skin. Beyond him Greg and Robbie looked equally relaxed.

"You ready for sun tan lotion on your back," he murmured to Jackson.

"Yeah, go for it," replied Jackson lazily.

Aaron reached for the large shared bottle of lotion and poured a generous measure onto his hands, rubbing them together before carefully beginning to smooth his hands over Jackson's back.

"Are you not too hot," asked Jackson a minute or two later as turning, he looked at Aaron, the only one of the men still wearing a tee shirt. He reached out, his fingers gently touching the material at Aaron's chest.

"No," replied Aaron. He sighed, "Yes...but I don't...can't..."

It was hard, harder than he thought to admit that he didn't want to strip off his tee shirt in

front of his friends. It was silly, it wasn't as if they hadn't all seen each other naked before, but somehow, despite the previous evening, with Jackson, in the safety of their van, now, in the bright sunshine on a beach which, while not crowded, wasn't empty either, he didn't want to expose himself so much, feel so vulnerable.

"It's okay...sorry," said Jackson. "I should have thought." He smiled apologetically. "What about going in for a splash about? Just keep it on; it'll dry off quickly enough in this heat."

Aaron nodded; he could easily have sat for the rest of the day, not moving, not drawing attention to himself. Instead he stood and followed Jackson towards the waves splashing with a gentle force on the shore.

The water at the shore was surprisingly warm as he jogged in beside Jackson. Not stopping, they splashed further out until the water reached their waists, their chests and they turned, crashed backwards into it then turning again began swimming, racing each other as they swam parallel to the shore.

Deeper, the water was cooler; as he swam, Aaron relished the salty freshness on his lips. He dipped down under the water, letting his body be enveloped by it, staying under until his lungs felt as though they were going to burst then shooting upwards, out of the water, gasping for air, yet feeling cleansed by the cold, by the salt.

The hours passed easily, pleasantly; Aaron relaxed even more as it became clear that neither Chas nor Cain were going to bombard him with questions, demanding answers before the time came for them to leave.

It was still warm in the late afternoon when they decided they needed to leave the beach and make their way back up to their small camp, for Cain and Chas to return to the farm, to collect their things and begin the long journey back north.

They stood gathered round the car, Cain waiting for Chas to slip into the passenger seat, Chas seeming reluctant now that the time to leave was upon them.

"Phone me. Text me," she said anxiously. "Let me know you're okay."

"He will," said Jackson, ignoring the slight scowl crossing Aaron's face.

"I just need to know you're safe," continued Chas.

"Come on Chas," said Cain in exasperation. "Get into the car. They'll be fine and home before you know it." As he spoke he looked towards the group of young men standing, waiting to see them off. His eyes locked with Finn's, held them for a moment as they exchanged a message, a request and agreement unseen by those around them.

"Oh come here!" exclaimed Chas, quickly pulling Aaron towards her, hugging him, ignoring the awkwardness of his body in her arms. "Just you take care mind, and make sure you're never alone."

"Mum!" discomfort, exasperation coloured his voice as he pulled away from her.

"Chas..." called Cain, a warning in his tone.

"Alright, alright!" exclaimed Chas stepping away from Aaron and sliding into the car. "Let's get out of here!"

Grimacing, shaking his head at the fickleness of his companion, Cain got into the car. In seconds they were gone; the final goodbyes exchanged before the car made its way steadily across the uneven field, pausing a moment as hands stretched from the open windows to wave before it turned and at last was gone from view.

Aaron took a deep breath, sighing deeply as he exhaled then bit his lower lip. "I thought they would never leave," he said.

"Well they have," said Simon cheerfully. "But don't worry; I'm here to make sure you're never on your own!" He put his arm around Aaron's shoulder, bumping his hips against Aaron's as his hand playfully rubbed his chest.

"Fuck off!" grinned Aaron.

"Never sweetheart," teased Simon. "You don't mind, do you Jackson? A nice little threesome, be cosy in the van at night!"

"On you go," laughed Jackson. "He's not really house trained though, farts and snores all night long!"

"I do not!" protested Aaron. "Shut up the pair of you, go and get some beers or something!"

In a mood that felt lighter than it had for some time, they brought cans of lager from the small fridge in Robbie and Simon's van; gathered a selection of food and sat, eating, drinking, talking and being quiet as the late afternoon slipped gently into a warm evening.

Nobody asked questions, nobody made plans, they only enjoyed the moment.


	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

The day dawned grey and overcast, the first day in their whole holiday that had not begun with sunshine.

"You sure about this," asked Robbie as they leaned against the open back doors of Jackson's van, each nursing a mug of coffee. "It'll be hard, even not going to the funeral, just to the grave."

"I know," sighed Aaron. "I just feel I should," he paused. "Y'know, the crazy thing is he's been dead longer than I knew him."

"That doesn't really matter though," replied Robbie.

"And it's taking us in the wrong direction," said Aaron.

"That doesn't matter either," Robbie reassured him. "It's not as though we have to be anywhere in particular for several days yet."

"I suppose you guys, and Finn and Greg could always head off, we could catch you up later, after..." began Aaron hesitantly.

"No way!" Robbie interrupted. "It's only ten miles or so and we'll be what, a couple of hours at most. And anyway," he continued, "even if we only get a few miles down the road tonight before we look for somewhere to stop, none of it matters. Just so long as you do what you need to do."

"Thanks Robbie," smiled Aaron.

"Hey it's nothing," shrugged Robbie. "Anything we can do to make it easier for you...though you seem to be doing okay?" It was a question, asked as his friend looked into the younger man's eyes, searching. Robbie couldn't imagine how Aaron was coping, couldn't imagine how he was just getting through each day. Last year had been bad enough, this...whatever had happened...was ten, twenty times worse.

"It seems almost unreal now," said Aaron quietly, dropping his gaze from Robbie's eyes. "I mean it's there, in my head, pictures flashing through my mind every time I close my eyes, but it's almost like it happened to somebody else and I'm just watching it." He stopped speaking; during the daylight hours it was as he described, but the nights were worse. At night, the last two nights, he had woken, his dreams uncertain but his body shaking and bathed in sweat. Jackson had held him, taken him into his arms and held him tightly until his breathing steadied and the unremembered nightmare had faded enough for him to sleep again.

It would pass, he knew it would, but for now he just had to get through the days - and nights.

"Ellen said she'd have eggs for us," said Robbie, changing the subject. "Fancy walking over with me to get them?"

Ellen had more than just eggs waiting for them when they went into the large farmhouse kitchen a few minutes later. On the table was a medium sized cardboard box full to the brim of packages wrapped in foil or greaseproof paper.

"Now the eggs are at the bottom," said Ellen, rummaging through the box as she counted out its contents. "And some sausages too, so get them into your little fridge straight away. Then there's two loaves of my bread and a little bit of my home baking, just to keep you going. You young lads," she added comfortably, "I know you're always hungry!"

"No danger of us starving with all these goodies," smiled Robbie.

It was lunchtime before they drove down the track away from the farm and almost half an hour later when they arrived at the small village named on the piece of paper, tatty now, that Sergeant Pengelly had given Aaron two days ago.

The church was easy to find, just off the main street, but they drove beyond it looking for somewhere to park the three vans.

"D'you want me to come with you?" asked Jackson as he switched off the engine and turned to look at Aaron.

"Would you mind if I didn't," replied Aaron, not quite meeting his eye. "I'd really rather just Finn came...it just seems wrong somehow...if we all go. I'm sorry..."

"It's fine," said Jackson quickly trying to reassure Aaron. He hadn't been surprised at his reply, this was a moment for Aaron, that he needed, that would hopefully help him to move on. And while Aaron was the last person to call himself any kind of Christian, Jackson knew he got something, some spirituality, some peace, from Finn. Which was funny, he thought, as Finn rarely talked about his beliefs or God. "I'll grab the others and we'll keep out of the way," he said. "There was a nice looking pub on the way in; we can wait for you there quite happily."

"Thanks," said Aaron sheepishly. He felt a lot less sure about this now that they were actually here. He wondered where Archie had lived in the village, had they passed his home driving in; there were very few people about, he was glad about that, the last thing he wanted was to get tangled up in the remains of the funeral.

"Come on," said Jackson, putting a hand briefly on Aaron's leg and squeezing it gently before moving to get out of the van.

They walked together at first, until at the lych-gate Finn and Aaron turned into its shadow, watching for a moment as the other men continued along the street.

A narrow path stretched ahead of them to the pretty church; on either side of the path were gravestones but all of them old, weathered and lichen covered.

"Come on," said Finn. "Let's have a wander round." He set off, walking slowly up the path towards the church, looking at the graves closest to the path, reading the inscriptions; getting glimpses of lives long lived.

It was peaceful in the sunshine, little noise but the birds singing in the trees that surrounded the churchyard. They saw the new grave as they turned a corner of the church, moving from the haphazard placing of the older stones to the more linear arrangement of the new. A mound of flowers marked the spot, a vivid splash of colour amongst the green.

"I never thought to bring flowers," said Aaron quietly.

"Some people leave a small stone to say they have been," said Finn, noticing Aaron's eyes immediately drop to the ground, looking for a suitable stone. "Do you want to go over alone?"

"I don't know," said Aaron simply. "Now that I'm here...I just don't know."

Finn put his hand to Aaron's arm. "Come on," he said. "I'll come over with you."

They walked towards the carpet of flowers; Aaron felt his feet slowing with every step, the pounding of his heart increasing. He glanced over his shoulder, relieved to see they were still alone in the peaceful churchyard.

"You don't have to," said Finn quietly beside him.

"It will just be one more regret if I don't," replied Aaron, dropping to the ground to pick up a small round pebble he spied on the path.

They reached the bed of flowers; Finn knelt, bowing his head for a moment before he began reading some of the cards attached to the bouquets and wreaths.

Behind him, Aaron stood, unable to move at first, only watching as Finn turned over first one card then another.

"It's okay," Finn murmured without turning, without looking up at him.

Aaron moved then, walking round the grave until he was on the opposite side from Finn; he crouched down and quickly dropped the round pebble amongst the flowers, hiding it from view.

"I'm going into the church," said Finn a few minutes later, standing. "You take your time though, no rush."

Aaron nodded, but said nothing. He moved from his crouching position to sit cross legged at the side of the bed of flowers. He looked around him; it was a peaceful spot to lie for eternity.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the emptiness around him.

Just beyond his reach, but unnoticed, a small white feather floated to the ground.

...

They were pouring over a map as Aaron and Finn walked into the beer garden of the pub.

"You tell them what we were thinking," said Simon, jumping up, "and I'll go and get the next round in. What's everyone wanting?"

"Is it okay if I have a pint?" asked Aaron, looking towards Jackson. "With driving and that," he added.

"Yeah, fine," replied Jackson. "I only had juice," he said, indicating one of the empty cans on the table.

Taking their order, Simon disappeared into the bar.

Turning the map towards Finn and Aaron, Greg pointed to a large patch of green, the edge of a large national park, much of it moorland.

"It would take us about three hours to get there, maybe four if the traffic is heavy. There is a small camp site, just here," he pointed to a spot on the map, "and they have vacancies. I phoned to check. It looks nice." He held his phone towards Finn and Aaron, allowing them to look at the website.

"We thought about stopping there tonight then moving on tomorrow," said Robbie. "Maybe head towards Brighton; a few days of something completely different before we head home."

"Sounds fine," said Finn.

"Yeah," agreed Aaron. He didn't really care where they went now, just so long as they went somewhere, as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the white heat of his memories, still painful, still with him.

"That's agreed then," said Robbie.Closing the road map, he shifted a little on the bench as Simon returned with the drinks. "We'll have these then head off."

"I'll phone them back and reserve pitches," said Greg, retrieving his phone from the table. Standing, he moved a few paces away and made the call. "Sorted," he said a minute later returning to the group of friends. "We can arrive anytime until ten tonight so we don't need to rush."

Returning from the bar, carefully carrying the tray laden with their drinks and several packets of crisps, Simon rejoined the group. Placing the tray on the table, he handed out the drinks, only Aaron and Finn accepting pints, the others having juice, either in cans or in pint glasses.

"It will be good to move on," he said, "put a bit of distance between ourselves and...everything." He sat next to Robbie, leaning into him, glad of the closeness of his boyfriend. It had been a difficult few days; the worry, the terror for the hours Aaron had been missing, the relief when he was safe, now they were left with the dark shadow of what had happened to him hanging over them all. Simon sighed; he knew he was seen as the joker, the life and soul of the group; inside he had never felt less like smiling as he looked across the table at his friend.

"We had a holiday in Brighton once," he pasted a smile on his face and looked at Robbie beside him. "It was pretty mad."

"And we were a lot younger then," laughed Robbie, catching the message in his lover's eyes; briefly he rested his hand on his leg as he carried on talking. "Far too much drinking, far too much clubbing; we'd never do anything like that these days!"

A ripple of laughter ran round the table; they talked easily, keeping away from anything too hard, too emotional. Simon sipped his drink, looking across at Aaron, there was nothing to see, he thought, no outward sign, he didn't even look too distressed, laughing at the stories, the jokes; but he knew his friend, they all knew each other too well. They were treading on eggshells. Waiting.


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

It was an easy journey; as they prepared to leave the village Jackson slid into the driving seat of the van; he turned the engine on but didn't engage first gear immediately.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking across to Aaron slumped in the passenger seat next to him. He had his eyes closed; but under his suntan, his skin seemed pale, his cheeks sunken.

"Yeah, I'm fine," answered Aaron, "just tired. And I can't wait to get out of here." He struggled further up in the seat, opening his eyes, looking at Jackson. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine," he repeated.

Jackson looked at him. He didn't believe him; oh he didn't think he was deliberately lying, just not admitting the truth to himself. He was too calm, too collected. Jackson bit his lip; for a moment, for a brief breath of time he considered saying something, challenging him, but the moment, the resolution passed. He slipped the van into gear and moved off, following the other two camper vans.

"Have you got that CD?" asked Aaron, lifting the CD case from the floor at his feet.

"It should be in there somewhere," said Jackson, allowing a little smile to cross his face, to ease the worry for a moment. He knew exactly which CD Aaron wanted; it was the one he always wanted when he needed to cheer himself up, to ground himself; usually they called it Paddy's CD, but Paddy hadn't seen it for a year or more and Jackson know that Aaron was word perfect for every song.

He flicked another quick glance at his lover, fumbling to remove the CD from its sleeve. He could do nothing but watch, wait and be prepared to catch him when he fell.

The roads were busy but the afternoon traffic was never heavy enough to halt their progress as they drove steadily westwards, out of the county. At first, Aaron appeared to be dozing or if not dozing, had his eyes firmly closed and was taking no notice of the passing scenery or of the music filling the van. Jackson glanced at him as he drove, just once or twice, just checking, as the miles drifted past.

It was peaceful, Jackson thought, just driving, after the ups and downs of the last week; consciously he tried to push the memories away, the fear, the nagging sense of guilt that he hadn't been with him, that he hadn't been enough or done enough and just be glad that Aaron was safe. Without taking his eyes from the road, from the cars in front of him, he took one hand off the steering wheel and laid it gently on Aaron's leg, feeling the hard muscles under his fingers.

Aaron stirred, squirmed in the seat, his hand moving to rest on top of Jackson's although he didn't open his eyes. Gently Jackson slid his hand out from underneath Aaron's, returning it to the steering wheel.

A few miles later a mobile rang; Jackson gave Aaron a gentle shove.

"Get that, Aaron," he said, "Aaron!" louder as he didn't respond. "Phone Aaron!"

Groaning, stretching, not fully awake, Aaron moved and reached for the demanding phone. Clicking to accept the call, he grunted in acknowledgement rather than spoke before ending the call.

"That was Simon," he said, pushing himself straighter in the seat, rubbing his hands across his eyes, trying to wake himself up. "They've turned off the main road and stopped at cafe. Probably about three or four miles ahead of us; down a hill, over a bridge and take the first right; they'll watch out for us. Is there any juice?

"Just behind the seats, I think," replied Jackson.

Unclipping his seat belt, Aaron turned and reached behind him, scrabbling onto the seat on his knees as he searched for a bottle of juice.

"I shouldn't have done that," he said as he slid back and refastened his seatbelt, the bottle of juice clasped between his knees.

"Done what?" questioned Jackson.

"Slept," said Aaron, taking a deep drink from the bottle.

"You were sleeping then?" said Jackson. "I wasn't sure, thought you might just have your eyes closed."

"No, I dropped off," groaned Aaron.

"The fresh air will wake you up in a minute," said Jackson. "This must be the bridge; first right after it you said?" The road turned as it dropped down a gentle, tree-lined hill giving them a view of a stone bridge at the bottom, taking them over a small river. Climbing again, the road twisted upwards, dark between the enclosing trees

"Umm," agreed Aaron. "There's a sign, 'The Copper Coffee Pot', it sounds very...very."

"Very much like it serves coffee," agreed Jackson, following the directions indicated on the sign. A short distance further on, the trees began to drift back from the lane, letting more light in; gradually the trees ended, they were driving between hedgerows, fields beyond them. Suddenly in front of them they saw a small building, tables scattered across a pleasant patio, cars and the two camper vans they were looking for in the car park; their four friends already standing besides the vans.

Jackson pulled into the car park, drawing up next to the other vans.

"Accelerator stuck at forty, was it?" grinned Simon as Jackson leapt from the driver seat, sliding the door shut behind him.

"Didn't want to wake up Sleeping Beauty," retorted Jackson, nodding towards Aaron.

"Aw, sleeping in the middle of the day, grandpa!" teased Simon.

Aaron pulled a face, stuck his tongue out briefly at his friend. "I'll be fine with a coffee," he said.

Several of the tables in the cafe were already taken; all the ones with a view from the large picture windows were full, but Robbie led them to a four-seater table at the back of the room, pulling two more chairs with him as he did so. There were menus already on the table, secured in small plastic holders, grabbing them, sharing them; they scoured them, making their choices.

A waitress came to their table, her pencil and notepad poised ready as she gazed around at the six good looking men, her eyes finally coming to rest on Finn, sweeping over him, taking in his halo of blond curls to his height, obvious even though he was sitting down.

Finn smiled at her; leaning forward to speak, he put his hand on Greg's leg, letting it slide between them close to his crotch in a gesture that was quietly intimate, a gesture that she couldn't miss; a gesture that she didn't miss as a flush of pink touched her cheeks.

"There is something to be said for being a camp fairy," said Simon after Finn had given her their order and she had retreated to the safety of the kitchen, "no misunderstandings."

"But it's just not you," teased Robbie. "You're just such a butch poof!"

They all laughed, they had all seen Simon behave in the most outrageously camp manner but they all knew it wasn't him.

"I can't help being so attractive," said Simon, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Oh? Who told you that?" asked Robbie.

"You" said Simon smugly, "the last time you were fucking my brains out."

"Ah pillow talk" teased Robbie. "I might have just been saying it to get into your boxers!"

"You were already in my boxers," smirked Simon. "Or to be more exact, you had already removed them!"

Robbie smiled at him but said nothing; laughter rippled around the table

Aaron enjoyed the banterpassing back and forth around the table; it felt normal, it relaxed him. However much he tried to push the memories to the back of his mind, however successful he was for a few minutes, an hour even, they were always there, lurking, resurrecting other memories, older memories. But he was fine, he kept repeating the words in his head like a mantra; he was fine, he would be fine. And he knew was true; he would be, he just had to get through it, let the days pass, taking him further and further away from the horror of those twenty-four hours.

The waitress returned with their coffees, their all day breakfast rolls, with a bowl brimming with sachets of tomato sauce, brown sauce, mayo, mustard. She was composed now; the flush that had stained her cheeks pink had retreated, no longer flirty but friendly as she placed their food in front of them.

It took them only just over an hour of driving after leaving the Copper Coffee Pot before they reached their camp site. They had left the main road heading east and driven on roads that got narrower as they drove further into the moorland area, their view across the rolling landscape uninterrupted by trees, only a few rocky outcrops dotted on grass close cropped by grazing sheep and the small ponies so well known in the area.

There was much less traffic now and they travelled together in a slow convoy negotiating the narrow lanes, wary of animals close to the edge of the road, scornful of the traffic passing so close to them. The road dipped and wound its way into a small valley, a sign told them they had only four miles to go before they reached their destination.

The entrance came upon them suddenly, hard on a bend in the road; the warm wooden reception cabin at the entrance more visible than the notice pointing the way into the site.

All three vans drew to a halt, Robbie jumped down from the first, Greg from the second and together they made their way into the cabin. Seconds later Robbie appeared again and trotted over towards Jackson.

"Cash up front," he said, coming to stand by the open window. "He said we can all go down to the far end of the site where the electrical hook-ups are, even though you don't need one."

As he was speaking Aaron fumbled in the glove box, reaching for their money, handing a couple of notes to Jackson.

"Right, won't be long," said Robbie, accepting the money as it was passed from Aaron to Jackson to himself.

In a matter of minutes Greg and Robbie emerged from the cabin, a third man with them, pointing down the track.

The dirt tract ran parallel to a rambling river, small scrubby trees and bushes were dotted along the banks, their planting seeming a haphazard plan of nature but they gave little bays of shelter and privacy for the tents hiding amongst them. As they reached the end of the track there were already two camper vans in place, linked to the electric hook ups but there was still plenty of space, they wouldn't crowd or be crowded.

Driving as far down the track as they could, they parked the vans carefully, straddling the last two bays to give them as much privacy as possible.

"The bloke said the river is shallow and fine enough for swimming," said Robbie, jumping down from the van.

"I want a beer first," said Simon, emerging from the far side of the van, a carrier bag full of cans of beer with him. "Anyone else?"

"Go for it!" said Jackson, stretching as he jumped from the van. Accepting a can from Simon, he wandered down towards the river, looking up and down, turning back to look at the rest of the site stretching away along the bank.

"Quite nice here," he said, pinging open the can and taking a deep drink.

"Well I don't know about the rest of you," said Simon, "but I'm going in for a paddle!" Scrambling down the gently sloping bank, he sat on a large boulder and pulled off his trainers and socks. "Shit! That's cold!" he exclaimed, dancing from one foot to the other as his warm skin met the surprisingly chilly water

Aaron wandered up beside Jackson, his own can already opened and sampled. "You going in?" he asked.

Jackson looked at him, his dark eyes taking in every detail of his face. "Why not?" he smiled.

In seconds they had both pulled off their footwear and splashed into the water, their breath catching in their chests as the chill engulfed their feet. Not long behind them, Greg, Finn and Robbie were soon foot naked and joining them at the shallow edge of the river.

Splashing; drops of water catching the light as they danced through the air between them, spotting their clothes with dark patches as the water soaked the material.

Laughing, Simon caught Robbie by the shoulders and tried to twist him off his feet. Robbie, the slightly bigger man, staggered backwards, one step, two but kept his footing, his arms clasping Simon by the waist, lifting him until they both overbalanced and to the accompanying laughter of their friends, both tumbled into the water.

Soaked now, they struck out into the deeper water, their bodies twisting, dancing, writhing swimming together in waves of their own making.

"You'd think it would be warmer," said Simon a few minutes later as he trod carefully on the slippy stones, making his way back towards the bank.

"Aw, I'll soon warm you up," teased Robbie, following him.

"Now that's an offer I can't refuse," smiled Simon gleefully.

"Anyone else want a nice warm cup of coffee," replied Robbie laughing, turning back to look at their friends still paddling in the shallow water.

"There are better ways you know," said Simon, feigning hurt.

"Race you back to the van then and I'll give you a rub down with a rough towel!" said Robbie suddenly picking up speed and sprinting the short distance to their van.

Reaching the open door at almost the same time, they tumbled inside, both laughing.

Aaron splashed towards the bank, scrambling out;he walked back towards the van. Reaching inside, he found a towel and leaned against the back of the van, drying his feet.

"What're you doing?" called Jackson, still paddling in the shallow part of the river.

"Just gonna find the loos," replied Aaron, pulling on his trainers and smoothing down the cut offs he was wearing. "Won't be long." He began wandering back up the track the way they had driven a short while earlier.

Jackson climbed out and sat on the bank, only his feet still dangling into the water. He watched Aaron walking away, fighting the urge to chase after him; it was hard, every time he walked away he had to fight the urge to call him back, to go with him. He forced his eyes back to the water, watching the patterns in waves that lapped at his feet, the light catching on the moving water.

"You ok?" Finn heaved himself onto the bank beside him. "It's not been easy for you."

"Yeah I'm fine," sighed Jackson leaning back and stretching out on the grass, his hands behind his head.

"Do you mean that?" asked Finn, stretching out beside him. He turned his head to look at Jackson.

"Yes," replied Jackson. "No. I don't know," he sighed flicking his eyes briefly towards Finn. "It's in my head all the time."

"Has he told you what happened?"

"Yeah, he said he needed to so it didn't get in between us...and I do understand that," said Jackson emphatically. "But now I've got these pictures in my head and I hate that there was nothing I could do to stop it for him. I should have been there with him."

"You can't beat yourself up over that," said Finn reasonably. "If we did that about everything in life that we couldn't change and regretted that we couldn't, we'd drive ourselves mad." He kept his gaze steady, waiting for Jackson to look back at him.

"So what do I do?" asked Jackson.

"Accept it," said Finn. "Acknowledge that it happened, through no fault of either yours or Aaron's, then try to move beyond it."

"As easy as that," said Jackson, his tone ironic.

"No, as hard as that," replied Finn quietly. At last Jackson looked at him properly, held his eyes for a moment. "But you're not alone," continued Finn. "We're all here for you...anytime you need us, need to talk."

Jackson nodded, glad of Finn's concern, of his reassurance; turning his eyes skywards, for a few moments he lay, watching the gentle drifting movement of the clouds.

"Anyone hungry?" Simon stood at the door of the camper van he shared with Robbie, naked save for the towel held close against his groin.

"That was quick," teased Greg, pulling himself up the bank to sit beside Finn and Jackson.

"Perfection isn't counted in hours or minutes," scoffed Simon.

"More like seconds," countered Finn, ducking as Simon threw the towel at him, before quickly stepping back into the shelter of the van.

"So anyway," said Simon, reappearing, wearing shorts this time and pulling on a tee shirt as spoke, "who's hungry and who's cooking?"

"Well I'm hungry but I hope you're not cooking," said Greg, standing up. "Here! Out of the way, I'll go and help Robbie, see what we can rustle up." He walked towards the van, playfully flicking the towel he had retrieved from Finn at Simon's arse, missing as he skipped out of reach, as they passed each other.

"Hey," Aaron came back into view down the path. "Did you know this place had its own bar?"

"Never!" exclaimed Simon. He sat on the bank beside Finn and Jackson, letting his bare feet dangle into the water.

"It's only small," said Aaron joining them, "but it looks nice and there is live music there tonight."

"Probably one old man with a guitar," laughed Simon.

"Well it's one old woman then," replied Aaron, "the sign said it would be someone called Esmé Angel, although there wasn't a picture."

"So she might be a hundred and tone deaf," said Simon.

"Or she might be okay," countered Finn.

"And the pints would be okay anyway," said Aaron smugly, looking forward to the evening.


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

It was later than they intended by the time they made their way to the bar. Greg and Robbie had produced a tasty meal and they had eaten leisurely sitting by the river.

The small bar was already lively with people when they arrived; all the tables were full and there were a number of people milling round the bar, drinks in hand. They eased their way past those gathered at the bar, only Aaron pausing there to get their order, the rest finding a small space to stand close to an empty stool and microphone, silent on a tall stand.

"We've not missed the entertainment then," said Aaron, momentarily moving closer, passing the pints as they were poured to his friends.

"Seems not," said Jackson, drinking deeply from his glass. "And we're not going to be able to escape." He nodded towards the waiting microphone.

"If it's too bad we'll find a way," said Simon. "It's not as though we haven't got cans in the vans." He cast his eyes over the people filling the bar; some couples, lots of families he guessed, there were a number of children constantly buzzing between their family, the friends they had made, in and out to the tables just outside the bar where they gathered in easy groups, all engrossed in their phones.

They hadn't been in the bar more than a few minutes when a young woman squeezed in between them. Protectively holding her body around her guitar as she moved through the bodies, she eased herself onto the stool and began gently strumming on the guitar.

She was young, in her early twenties perhaps; her hair long and very dark, almost black, hanging straight down, curtaining her face when she lent forwards over her instrument.

Being so close, the group of friends became aware of the quiet strumming of the guitar very quickly and fell silent to listen to the tune, the subtle notes gradually becoming more insistent, gradually working their way into the consciousness of everyone in the bar as they grew in volume and complexity.

Soon almost everyone, except those furthest away, were quiet, listening, gathered into the web of unexpected magic woven by the music.

As the last note faded, a spontaneous round of applause filled the small bar. After a brief 'thank you', she began playing again, a pop song, familiar, recently heard relentlessly from every radio station.

"She's actually not bad," whispered Robbie, leaning back against his small piece of the bar.

"Better than a tone deaf hundred year old man anyway," teased Simon.

Music filled the rest of the evening; different styles, different rhythms, the singer asked for requests then asked if any of the audience wanted to sing with her.

The late summer evening was quite over when they eventually left the bar, drifting away into darkness punctuated only by small lights set at regular intervals in the ground at the edge of the track, lighting the way back to the little nooks and crannies of the camp site.

Walking close to Aaron, Jackson was silent. He had enjoyed the evening, Aaron had appeared to enjoy the evening, but even so...there was something bothering him. Something he couldn't name, couldn't pin down...it was more a feeling, an uneasy sensation stalking him.

"You okay?" asked Aaron. "You're not usually this quiet on a night out."

"Well it's hardly Bar West," replied Jackson, a touch defensively. "Beside," he added, "Simon was making enough noise for all of us."

"Yes!" laughed Aaron, "he really shouldn't try to sing."

"I can hear you," Simon called back over his shoulder. "And I'll have you know I've been told I've got a very good singing voice!"

"Yeah, for singing in the bath!" teased Aaron.

Jackson said nothing just smiled at the exchange. He tried to push the uncomfortable, unsettling feelings to the back of his mind, not wanting to explore them further, not wanting to acknowledge the anxiety gnawing at him, not wanting to make it real.

Goodnights said, on reaching their little camp, they went to their respective vans, doors closed, lights dimmed against the darkness.

In the cramped space of their van, Aaron and Jackson quickly peeled off their clothes and took their places on the mattress, Aaron in first, wriggled to the side of the bed against the wall of the van. It was warm enough and he pushed the thin quilt down towards his hips, watching Jackson as he slipped in naked beside him.

Jackson moved across the mattress into Aaron's waiting arms; they felt strong around him, safe and secure. As if there was nothing wrong. Maybe there wasn't; maybe it was all in his head, his own apprehensions and insecurities, his own guilt and regrets. He snuggled further into the arms holding him, turning his head until he could see the eyes, dark in the darkness of the van, looking down at him. Their lips met.

...

"It will take hours to get there," groaned Simon, pouring over a map, a mug of coffee in his hand.

The smell of breakfast filled the air, drifting from Greg and Finn's van as everyone except Greg and Jackson sat on the grass in front of the vans, drinking in the wonderful aromas in anticipation of the feast to come.

"Well we don't have to go there," said Finn. He was sprawled full length on the grass, his mug held lightly in one hand, balanced carefully on his chest. "I just thought we had kind of drifted through this holiday and after..." he paused, "...after everything that's happened, we could do with doing something completely different."

"You just wanna get your gay on," sang out Simon in the fakest of American accents.

"Me?" questioned Finn in mock horror, sitting up to get a better view of Simon. "I'm a respectable minister of the church!"

"Finn," said Simon firmly. "We've all seen the pictures! The Pride marches, the costumes; that club you DJ'd in...and more besides."

"America," Greg's voice called from the van. "Don't forget America!" He stuck his head out from the van, grinning as he spoke.

Finn blushed, his face suddenly pink to the roots of his blond hair.

"You showed them the pictures from America," he groaned.

"Every last one," agreed Greg cheerfully.

"Those guys were really hot," said Simon.

"Especially the one..." began Aaron.

"We were a lot younger then!" said Finn, quickly interrupting him. "And a lot less..."

"Monogamous?" suggested Greg, still hanging from the door of their van, his eyes full of mischief.

"No...yes...committed," said Finn struggling to explain a youthful exuberance so different from the manhood he had chosen, yet a time he had enjoyed and didn't, couldn't, regret. "But it's different now..." he continued, "...we're different people now."

"You think so?" laughed Greg, stepping down from the van, leaving Jackson behind, watching the cooking breakfast, peering quietly from the door. "We gave up..." Greg paused, searching for the right words, "...not being entirely faithful...years ago, but when the bedroom door closes you can be as slutty as the next."

"I am not!" exclaimed Finn,his words clashing against others spoken at the same time.

"Tell us more," said Simon gleefully, leaning forward in the clear expectation of juicy gossip.

"Woohoo!" cried Aaron in apparent delight, "bedroom secrets! Spill!"

"See what you've done now," groaned Finn, only slightly overdoing the melodrama as he played along. "They'll never give up now; they'll want to know every gory detail."

"Well not every detail," said Simon reassuringly. He paused. "We were in the room next to you in the hotel in Glasgow in April, remember; the walls weren't that solid."

"You are joking!" exclaimed Finn, genuine horror clear in his voice.

Simon held his eyes for a moment, teasing him, daring him.

"Yes, he's joking," said Robbie.

"Ah spoil sport," cried Simon, playfully shoving his boyfriend.

"Wind-up merchant," countered Robbie, pulling Simon down on top of him.

"So are we heading to Brighton or not?" asked Finn taking advantage of the moment to change the subject.

"I'm ok with it," said Aaron. "Jackson? What about you?" he called towards the van where Jackson was carrying on with the breakfast.

"Yeah, fine," called back Jackson. "Can someone come and grab some of this food?"

"Sorry!" said Greg, leaping back into the van. "I didn't mean to leave it all to you."

"It's fine, really," replied Jackson. "Here, take these out." He handed him two plates, one piled high with sausages, the second holding a mountain of bacon, following him seconds later with a third plate of buttered rolls.

They sat on the grass in a vague circle, the plates of food in the middle, all eating hungrily and making short work of the food. The sun was already warm, the promise of another hot and sunny day ahead of them.

"Right," said Robbie between mouthfuls. "So we'll head towards Brighton, though we'll have to camp away from the town itself I expect. Shall we get a site or just look for somewhere to park up?"

"Might be better to have a site again," said Jackson. "If we're going out...showers," he added almost hesitantly.

"Good point," agreed Robbie.

"It'll take us a good five or six hours I reckon," said Greg, pulling the abandoned map towards him, flipping the pages as he traced their route with his fingers. "Do you want to hunt for a site, Robbie or will we do it?"

"You just do it," said Robbie, "you seem to get better internet than we do."

"You two okay with that?" asked Finn, looking towards Aaron and Jackson.

"Yeah, no worries," said Jackson, answering for both of them, "just text us the details when you've found somewhere."

More coffee rounded off their meal before they left the camp site, driving in slow procession down the track that would take them back onto the small road that crossed the edge of the moorland park.

They had decided not to try and keep up with each other although for the first few miles all three vans travelled closely together in an impromptu convoy, only separating as cars overtook them or came between them at junctions.

Aaron drove; as they prepared to leave the camp he had swung himself into the driving seat of the van. Jackson looked at him, his eyes questioning, before he climbed easily into the passenger seat.

"It's easier," said Aaron, answering the unspoken question, biting back the sharper comment, the demand that they all stop pussy-footing around him. It was done, over with; he was fine, really fine.

Jackson looked across at Aaron; he was right, it was easier to drive, to concentrate on something other than the thoughts tumbling round in his head. Jackson wished he could escape the thoughts that were chasing round in his mind; the relief that Aaron was coping, appeared to have put it behind him fought with the nagging worry that he was too fine, coping too well. And the guilt; that he hadn't been there, that once again it was Aaron hurt. He said nothing, only biting his lip as Aaron put the van into gear, eased up the clutch and set the van moving.

The CDs playing filled the long silences of the miles slowly passing, the cross country roads filled with traffic trundling in a crocodile of holiday makers. Somewhere ahead of them Finn and Greg, Simon and Robbie were probably caught up the in the same line of cars and caravans, lorries and camper vans. They spoke but touched on nothing of significance; Jackson avoiding the subject, Aaron burying the subject.

"You okay if we find somewhere to stop soon?" asked Aaron after they had been driving for a couple of hours. "I could do with a pee and swapping over for a bit."

"Yeah, sure," replied Jackson, "just find somewhere to stop when you can."

Within a mile or two Aaron had pulled into a lay by; it was large, arching away from the road with space for a number of vehicles although it was empty when they pulled in. He jumped from the van and began walking towards the furthest edge of the lay by; a tall hedge dotted with unevenly spaced trees lined most of the lay by but to the far end there was a small gap. Aaron made his way towards it, going through enough to hide himself from the road as he relieved himself.

Jackson idly leant against the van, picking at a long stalk of grass, shredding it as he waited for Aaron to re-emerge.

"You okay?" asked Aaron as he walked back towards him a bare minute or two later. "You've been kinda quiet the last day or two." He leaned against the van beside Jackson, not looking at him but gazing out to the fields beyond the hedge

"Yeah. I'm fine,"said Jackson but his voice was weary, almost as though he didn't believe the words he was saying.

"Liar," replied Aaron, matter of factly. He looked at him. "I know you Jackson. I know something is bothering you. What is it?"

For a moment, Jackson was silent, only his fingers busy with the grass stalk that was disintegrating rapidly under his agitated movements.

"How are you managing to cope?" Jackson answered with another question. "You seem to have put it all behind you, moved on? How can I stop my imagination working overtime? How can I stop feeling so guilty?"

Aaron said nothing, instead turning to look at Jackson, to look at his face in profile as he kept his eyes fixed on something invisible to Aaron. Tentatively Aaron touched his shoulder, his fingers resting softly on him, demanding his attention.

Jackson turned to look at Aaron, look into his blue eyes, eyes that had been veiled, hiding something, hiding his feelings. Looking into his eyes, suddenly Jackson realised that perhaps he had been mistaken, that appearances were deceiving.

"When we..." Aaron paused, turning away from Jackson again as his voice caught on his words, "...when we fuck, when you're touching me, touching my cock or my arse...or just anywhere... I have to keep my eyes open, so that I know it's you touching me. When I suck you off, I have to keep watching your face, so that I know it's you, wanting me, happy for me to be there. When I taste you in my mouth, I have to remind myself that it's your cum I am swallowing." He stopped for a moment, resting his head back against the van before he carried on speaking.

"I'm getting through it...any way I can. I know it won't always be like this, but for now, when I close my eyes, I can see them, him. I can see and feel and taste the things he made me do, that he did. But you've been so good...all of you...the guys have all been great and I want to enjoy the rest of this holiday as much as them, so..." he shrugged.

"I'm sorry," whispered Jackson, "so sorry."

"Shhh..." Aaron hushed him. "We'll get through this." His hand inched over the body of the van until he found Jackson's hand, linking their fingers. "I can't make the pictures in your head go away, but I can tell you that you have nothing, absolutely nothing to feel guilty about!" Aaron gripped Jackson's fingers tightly as he spoke, emphasising his words.

Jackson nodded, but said nothing.

"Jackson!" Aaron snapped his name, moving to stand in front of him, their bodies almost touching. "Don't...I need you to be strong through this...strong like you have been up to now, strong like you always are. Please."

Instinctively Aaron closed the distance between them, opening his legs wider as he planted his feet either side of Jackson's, letting their hips rest against each other, letting his hands rest on Jackson's shoulders as he stared into the dark chocolate eyes, eyes that held a mixture of distress and hope as Jackson searched Aaron's face for the truth in his words, as he took comfort from them.

Aaron lent forward, slid his arms around Jackson's shoulders and hugged him. For a moment they were both still, then Jackson put his arms around Aaron's waist. Almost unconsciously, they moved, bringing their lips closer, not wanting to stop the kiss from happening despite the images, real and imagined, haunting them both. Gently their lips touched, hesitantly at first, as though they were finding each other again, rediscovering each other after the admission of the nightmare thoughts and memories from which they had found no escape as yet.

Deepening the kiss, tasting each other as their tongues met, sliding over each other, a delicate dance of exploration before desire began to grow, sweeping over them, engulfing them, pushing rational thoughts and irrational nightmares from their minds, the need for each other becoming overwhelming.

Breaking the kiss, Aaron pulled Jackson away from the van. Dragging him by the arm, he pulled him away towards the gap in the hedge at the far end of the lay by.

"What are you..." began Jackson as he almost tripped following him.

"It's daylight," replied Aaron breathlessly. "We can see each other." They were the other side of the tall hedge now, hidden from any casual view from the road, from the lay by, but still Aaron pulled him further along the line of the hedge until suddenly he skidded to a halt, shoving Jackson backwards until his movement was stopped by the trunk of a tall tree behind him.

"It's daylight," Aaron repeated. "I know it's you and you know it's me!" Pressing against Jackson, he resumed kissing him, devouring his lips, his tongue, more urgently, his body hard against Jackson's. He could feel his body stirring, responding as he deepened his kisses and knew that beneath him, Jackson was becoming aroused as he moved against him. Moving to one side a little, Aaron allowed a little space between them, just room enough for his hand to find the button of Jackson's jeans, to undo it before unzipping them.

Groaning as Aaron's hand found its way through his boxers, Jackson began returning he compliment as he fumbled with the loose trackkies Aaron was wearing, easily finding his way to his cock, already hard.

Kissing, touching, tongues dancing, hands moving, bodies grinding together in the warm shade of the tree, their excitement grew, filling their minds, their cocks with nothing but the moment, the crescendo, the satisfaction, urgent and rapid that their practiced movements quickly reached.

Breathing heavily, they broke apart, Aaron stepping back until he was next to Jackson, leaning against the tree. He turned his head and looked at Jackson, smiling.

"It'll be okay, you know...we'll get through this," he spoke reassuringly.

"I know," agreed Jackson, "but sometimes it helps just to say it out loud."

In the near distance the noise of car doors slamming shut reached them, voices young and excited floated on the warm air from the far side of the hedge.

"Time to go, I think," said Aaron, raising his eyebrows in a question as he tugged his trackkies more securely around his hips.

"Oh yes," said Jackson, looking more at ease than he had for a day or two as he fastened his jeans.

Smiling, feeling deliciously naughty, they emerged from the far side of the hedge back through the gap into the lay by; there was another car there now, with people milling about outside it; children glad to be free for a moment from the confines of travel, parents weary already.

Hoping their recent activity was not writ clear across their faces, Aaron and Jackson walked back to the van, this time Jackson jumping into the driver's seat. With the doors slammed shut, the windows wide open they prepared to set off on the road.

Jackson reached for his phone. "Missed calls and messages," he said, clicking to read the texts. "They've booked us onto a site about ten miles from Brighton; still take us a few hours to get there though." He gave the phone to Aaron and switched on the engine. "Ready?"

"Ready," agreed Aaron firmly.


	22. Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

"This place is just wall to wall clubs and bars," said Greg, scrolling through internet pages on his phone. "You guys have been here before, any suggestions?" He looked expectantly towards Simon and Robbie.

"It was a while ago," laughed Robbie.

"But it probably hasn't changed all that much," added Simon. "St James Street? Is that mentioned? And down towards the seafront."

They were sitting in Robbie and Simon's van; it had taken them all longer to reach their new site than they had anticipated and the evening was already well advance by the time Aaron and Jackson, the last to arrive, had pulled up beside the other two vans.

The site was functional – and busy – rather than pretty; its only attraction that it was just a short distance from one of the main bus routes back into the town with a frequent service late into the night and early hours of the morning.

However they had decided they were going nowhere that night, tired after their journey and content to eat together, they sat now, their meal done, sharing a few cans and the easy conversation of plans being made.

"Yeah, that's what it's saying," agreed Greg, still peering at the screen.

"Well that's tomorrow night sorted," smirked Simon. "What about during the day?"

"Dunno," said Aaron, standing up," "but this isn't like the other places that were fine for just hanging round in. Anyway, I'm off to the loos."

"I'll go as well," said Finn, scrambling up, squeezing out between Greg and Robbie, quickly jumping from the high step of the van and trotting a step of two, catching Aaron up.

At first they walked in silence, putting a little distance between themselves and the cluster of their vans, lost amongst the sea of similar vehicles.

"Jackson," said Aaron at last, coming to a halt. He didn't look at Finn, only scuffed at the dried ground with his trainer. "He's not...he's not doing great."

"I know," said Finn, "we had a bit of a chat yesterday."

Aaron looked at him then, a look that was a question, asking why he hadn't said anything sooner.

Finn gave a small, apologetic smile, shrugging his shoulders but not answering. Aaron already knew the answer.

"He said he's got pictures in his head all the time...imagining it all. Feels guilty. I said he had no need but..."

"But you're not sure if he's really taking that onboard?"suggested Finn.

Aaron nodded, pressing his lips together. "It's like I need to try and put it in a box," he spoke slowly, trying to find the words, the images, to convey his meaning, to make Finn understand. "I need to put it away in my mind so I can just get on with...with everything else. But with him...like this, it just keeps opening the lid of that box."

Finn nodded but said nothing, sure Aaron hadn't finished speaking, allowing him time to gather his thoughts.

"He's usually so strong, so sorted," continued Aaron. "Last year, what happened, then the court case and finding out about Cain...he was always there. He knew what to do, what to say, how to cope. And now," he paused. "Now it feels like I have to help him, be strong for him."

"And how do you feel, doing that?" asked Finn. They had resumed walking now, making their way slowly towards the large shower block.

"Ok," said Aaron, "but thinking about him, worrying, just keeps it in my mind all the time. I don't know what to do to stop him feeling guilty."

"I don't know if there is an answer," Finn sighed. "It's such an irrational response but I totally understand it. Doesn't help you much though, trying to put it behind you and get on with things." Finn looked at the younger man walking beside him, his head slightly lowered as he kicked at the dusty ground as he walked. Not for the first time he wondered why, why it had to be them again.

...

"So what are we going to do with the rest of the evening," asked Simon, sitting sideways along the bench seat, his feet resting on Jackson's lap. "Does anyone want to go and find the nearest pub?" He looked expectantly at his companions.

"I'm easy," said Greg. "Whatever everyone else wants, Jackson? Robbie?"

"Not bothered really," said Jackson. "I'm pretty tired so will probably give it a miss."

"I'm not that fussed," said Robbie. "What about a game of cards or something?"

"Consequences!" exclaimed Simon excitedly, swinging his legs round and sitting up. "Gay consequences! You know Tom met Harry at the bar, he said to him and he said to him, this happened and the consequence was...it'll be brilliant fun! Jackson, have you got any paper in your van. And we need a pen each."

"Yeah, I'll go and get some," said Jackson, standing, leaving the van. As he moved, everything about his body, the unspoken subtle language, reeked of weariness, of disillusionment.

The three other men watched him leave the van. Nobody said anything until he had disappeared around the corner, out of view, out of earshot.

"He's not doing so well, is he?" said Greg quietly.

"I thought it would be Aaron," mused Simon in response. "Jackson has always seemed so…so grounded." His voice was full of gentle surprise, disbelief, almost of pain as he realised that his friend was struggling. "Should we do something? Say something?"

"I'll speak to him," said Robbie quietly, "see what he says."

"Bastard," whispered Simon, "sick fucking bastard!" He wasn't sure of the details of the attack, the assault, but he, like all of them, was living with, the fall-out, the disintegration of his friends.

In the quiet as they all battled each with their own thoughts, they easily heard the sounds of Jackson's return. He stepped into the van, a large folio drawing pad under his arm, a clutch of pens in his hand.

"We can take a page from this, tear it into strips," he said, dropping the folio on the small table, letting the pens clatter beside it. "Here." He turned the book over, opening the back page and tearing the last sheet from it, handing it to Simon.

It took no time to rip the paper into six long strips and when Aaron and Finn had returned more tins of beer were distributed and the rules of the game decided.

"Gay consequences?" questioned Aaron, looking puzzled.

"You must've played consequences," replied Simon. "You know, boy met girl at, he said she said and so on. Well this is the same, only gay."

"Does it have to be just gay?" asked Finn. "Can it be LGBT?"

"Okay, LGBT then," agreed Simon, "but you have to say what they are. Everyone ready? Right, everyone write down their first name then 'met'."

Heads bent, pens poised, thinking or quickly scribbling as inspiration struck.

"Pass your paper on and write down a second name and 'at'," said Simon.

Jackson took a deep drink of his can of lager. Part of him wanted to get drunk, drunker than he had ever been, just to blot out the images tormenting every waking moment. Another part of him, the larger, more sensible part of him knew that wasn't the answer; that he wasn't going there. They had been talking about him; he had sensed the silence from Greg, Simon and Robbie as he had returned with the paper. What had they been saying? Did they think he was mad...overreacting? He took another long swallow of his drink, screwing his eyes tight shut, just for a moment.

"Now write down where they met," Simon folded over his paper and passed it on as he spoke.

Jackson's skin tingled, he glanced around him; were they all looking at him? Stealing surreptitious glances when they thought he wouldn't notice.

"What the first person said."

They were laughing, joking, all of them, how could they do that, Jackson wondered. He had never felt less like laughing in his life. He pasted a smile on his face.

"And the same for your second person." Simon held his paper out towards Jackson.

Aaron caught his eyes, could he see the pain hidden in them? Aaron smiled at him, then laughed out loud at some silly, innocuous statement Simon made. Or was it Robbie? He hadn't really been paying attention; it could have been any one of them.

"What the first person did."

His stomach was churning as though the lager he had drunk was frothing and foaming, creating a storm, the storm of his emotions.

"And what the second person did."

He felt sick. Why was he feeling so awful?

"And the consequence was..." sang out Simon cheerfully. "Now pass them on again, then we all read them out."

The rolled up slips of paper changed hands for the last time, each of them then unrolling them, quickly scanning them.

"_Tina the tranny_," began Simon, reading from the paper he held, "_met the Queen_ - who wrote that? She's not gay, well not really," he said, interrupting himself. Without waiting for an answer he continued, "anyway _they met at the bondage basement in Bar West; she said lets have sex in the freezer aisle at Asda, she said does my bum look big in this? And the consequence was they stood at the top of a lighthouse bare naked_!"

Laughter rippled round the group; Jackson smiled, it was funny, sort of and for a moment other pictures filled his mind, amusing and disturbing in their own way. He took another drink, emptying his can.

"Right, I'll read mine," said Greg. "_Gary a gay guy met the Bishop of_...Finn! You wrote that! You can't say that!"

Finn looked wide eyed, a picture of innocence. "It's only a game," he said. "I'm not really saying he's gay."

Simon leaned over and grabbed the piece of paper from Greg's hands, squinting at the writing. "Is he?" he questioned.

"I'm saying nothing," Finn smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Jackson listened to the banter between his friends, he tried to join in, successfully he thought, only always, at the back of his mind, it was there, lurking. He leaned back against the padded back of the seat and closed his eyes; he needed to let it go, he knew that. Let go of the guilt, the useless but enveloping and suffocating feelings that had him in their grip. He ran his hand over the short hairs of his beard; he hated feeling like this but wasn't quite sure how to shake off the feelings. He could tell himself it wasn't his fault; he knew it wasn't his fault, yet believing it...

It was late by the time Simon and Robbie had the van to themselves again.

"D'you want coffee or anything," asked Simon.

Behind him, Robbie was clearing the debris of the evening, transforming the seats and table into a double bed.

"Shit! Jackson's left his drawing book here," said Robbie, picking up the large book and beginning to flick through it. "These are really good," he murmured.

"What are they of?" asked Simon, putting the kettle on the small hob and flicking on the gas, despite getting no answer to his question about coffee.

"Aaron mostly," replied Robbie, turning the pages, "and mostly naked. But they are beautiful, look." He turned the large, awkward book so that Simon could see the pictures, then flipped the pages over, letting them look at each picture together as Simon moved to sit next to him.

"It's Aaron, but it's so not Aaron," breathed Simon, his gaze drawn deep into the pictures.

"Exactly," agreed Robbie. "And he's naked, but everything is left to your imagination; there's nothing sexual."

"Except in his eyes," said Simon. "Look, doesn't he just want to fuck whoever he's looking at; Jackson."

For a few minutes they turned the pages in silence, admiring the pictures, the delicate pen lines bringing each image to life, almost forgetting that they were of their friend. On the gas hob, the kettle suddenly began to sing; Simon jumped up to lift it, make the coffee.

"Fuck!" the expletive spat from Robbie's lips.

Spinning abruptly to face him, Simon saw shock written over his boyfriend's face. Saying nothing, Robbie only dropped his eyes to the page now open in front of him.

"Oh God!" He picked up the open page, staring at it. There were harsh black lines criss-crossing the page, creating a painfully dramatic picture; a picture so clearly drawn in haste, in hurt. It was still obviously Aaron, but a very different Aaron. An Aaron held down, helpless and violated; a large faceless figure towering over him, taking him, possessing him; fucking him in horribly graphic detail.

"But he wasn't raped," whispered Simon, staring in mesmerised horror at the image in front of him.

"That doesn't matter though," replied Robbie. "This is the picture in Jackson's head; the picture that he sees every time he closes his eyes. Look." He pointed to another figure in the picture; a figure the wrong side of a crudely drawn window;huge eyes dominating a face marked withthe curls of a short beard,screaming in silent anguish.

Biting his lip but saying nothing, Robbie turned over the page, dreading what might they might find; but there was nothing on the following pages only a single thick black line ripping across the harsh white paper, tiny blooms like small black flowers, blossoming in places across the page where the pen had been diluted. Robbie slowly ran his finger across the page; he could feel the indentations and undulations beneath his touch and knew they had been caused by drops of water sinking into the paper. By tears.

"What the hell are we going to do with this?" he murmured.

"We can't show Aaron," said Simon quickly.

"Oh God no!" exclaimed Robbie. "And we probably shouldn't let Jackson know we've seen it."

"Finn then?" said Simon, raking his hand through his hair in an unconscious gesture of anxiety. "He'll know what to do about it anyway. Should we go now?"

"Are there lights still on in their van?" asked Robbie.

Simon pulled the blind aside at the window nearest him and peered into the darkness of the campsite; a darkness punctuated with dim lights from the camper vans, caravans and tents spread across the large field and brighter lights from tall lamps marking the paths. He looked towards Finn and Greg's van; the lights were still showing.

"Yeah, they're still up," said Simon. "We'll go over shall we?"

"I suppose," said Robbie. "Perhaps we should text first?"

"Okay," Simon lifted his mobile and quickly typed in a message. He pressed send then looked at Robbie, sliding gratefully into his arms for a hug, burying his face in his chest.

Only seconds later the ping of an answering text made them pull apart as Simon reached to read it. "Right, its fine to go over, come on." He picked up the drawing book, closing it carefully. "Just go quietly, even though we don't have to pass Aaron and Jackson's, we don't want them to hear us."

Leaving a single light on, they quietly left their van and made their way across the short distance separating their van and Greg and Finn's. The door was already open; they climbed in, closing it quietly behind them

The bed was already made up; Finn was sitting cross legged on top of the covers, only wearing a tee shirt and boxers. Greg was still fully dressed, busying himself with the kettle and setting out four mugs.

"I'm sorry," began Robbie, "we don't know what to do about this." He perched on the edge of the bed, fumbling to open the large drawing pad to the right page. Finding it, he handed it to Finn.

Greg moved close to Finn, both of them staring at the drawing.

"You've not said anything to him? To either of them?" whispered Greg, dragging his eyes away from the picture and returning the reassuring normality of making the coffee.

"No," said Simon. "No, we couldn't...we didn't..."

"It's okay, best not to, just yet" said Finn quietly. "This is so...so awful." He raised his head, dragging his eyes away from the picture, closing them, breathing in, catching his breath as he tried to take in this new revelation. "We need to think about this," he continued, now glancing at each of them in turn and accepting a mug of steaming coffee from Greg.

"Poor Jackson!" breathed Greg, easing himself onto the bed, as close to Finn as he could get while Robbie and Simon sat together at the foot of the bed. "What on earth are we going to do, Finn?"

"I don't know," Finn shook his head as he spoke. "I honestly don't know." Gently he closed the pages of the drawing pad, hiding the raw, painful image from their gaze. But they still saw it, all of them, seared on their minds, in their hearts.

For a while they all sat in silence, nursing their cooling mugs of coffee. Nobody spoke, nobody knew what to say, how to make it better.

"You'll need to give it back to him," said Finn slowly, thinking as he spoke. "The book. In the morning, as though you just noticed he had left it and haven't looked at it. We need…" he stopped abruptly, shaking his head. "He needs help and I haven't got a clue where to start!"

"We're not over reacting, are we?" asked Simon hesitantly. "I mean I don't think we are," he added quickly. "I just don't know."

"To be honest, I don't know either," said Finn,

"But we can't really take that chance can we," added Greg.

"Is there anything we could be doing meantime?" asked Robbie.

Finn lay back against the pillow, rubbing his hands across his face as he stretched his long legs out, aware of Robbie or Simon moving slightly, giving him space. Why did they think he had the answers? Did they think he wasn't floundering? Unsure what to do or say? Fearful of doing or saying the wrong thing; making it worse. Could it be worse? Yes...he supposed it could.

"I don't think there is anything we can do tonight," said Finn, his voice resigned. "He's with Aaron just now; hopefully they'll be sleeping soon or - well, anyway - not brooding about it all. And tomorrow; we'll just have to see how he is; see if we get any inspiration about what to do."

They drank their coffee, letting their conversation drift away from the thoughts uppermost in all their minds. Eventually, hugging each other briefly for reassurance, they said goodnight, Robbie and Simon leaving as quietly as they had arrived.

A short distance across the grass, in the blue van, dark against the night sky Jackson lay; still awake despite the tender love-making that had occupied them since they had returned to their van. Beside him, Aaron was sleeping, any unpleasant thoughts, memories successfully buried deep in his psyche, ignored. Jackson wished it was that easy for him, didn't quite understand why it wasn't; he only knew sleep, with the troubled dreams that had begun plaguing him, would be hours coming. He sighed, turning into the warm body beside him, seeking to share his peace.


	23. Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

"We're alright for this morning," said Finn, busy at the small cooker in the van, "but we'll need to think about hitting a supermarket soon, can't have the boys starving!"

"I heard that," Simon called from outside the van. He was kneeling outside on the tinder dry grass, a bread board with a half loaf stacked in front of him, quickly spreading each slice with butter before transferring the buttered slice to a large plate. "You like your food as much as the rest of us!"

"That's true," agreed Finn cheerfully. "Can one of you do the coffee, this is nearly done."

"I'll do it," said Jackson. He had been stretched on the ground beside Simon but jumped up now.

"I think some of the mugs are still in at ours," said Simon, "but Robbie might have already washed them."

"No worries," said Jackson going into Robbie and Simon's van.

"I hope the others aren't long," called Finn. "They seem to have been gone ages and I don't want to food spoiling."

"Serves them right if theirs goes cold," said Simon. "You'd started cooking before they headed for the showers."

They had all tried to act as normal as possible, emerging in dribs and drabs from their vans to a morning already warm and promising to be hot later in the day. Lazy coffee, hazy plans for the day begun, conversation, gentle banter; trying to be normal.

It felt anything but a normal morning, thought Finn as he juggled three pans on the two-ring cooker. He felt like he was testing every word before he spoke less he slipped up, let on that they had seen the picture or say anything that might make Jackson feel any worse, any more guilty. He had slept badly, tossing and turning, his dreams vivid but senseless and had woken feeling drained and irritable. Leaving the van without waking Greg, he had made his way to the showers and stood under the cool refreshing water, trying to clear his mind as the water cascaded over his body.

But at least he had a plan now.

Greg, Aaron and Robbie arrived back before the breakfast spoiled, coming to the space between their vans with their hair still damp, with banter on their lips; they dropped to the ground close to Simon and Jackson.

"D'you need a hand?" Greg called in the general direction of their van.

"Nope, you're fine, it's all done," answered Finn, appearing with two large plates piled high with enough eggs, bacon and sausages to feed a small army. Unceremoniously, he dumped the plates on the grass between them all. "Dig in, everyone," he said, gesturing towards the plates.

"So we'll take one of the vans into town for the day then get the bus back tonight?" said Robbie, once he had piled a slice of bread high, balanced another on top and taken a huge, satisfying mouthful.

"Yeah, that way no one has to worry about driving tonight and there's plenty going along that way, every twenty minutes or so" replied Greg. "And for coming back, even late on."

"So that's decided then?" said Aaron, looking round at them all.

Agreement ran around the group, spoken or muttered as they ate, hungrily clearing all the plates of the food.

"We'll do the dishes," volunteered Aaron, glancing at Jackson, seeing his nod of agreement.

"Well you do the plates then," said Finn, "it's just as easy for us to do the pans in our van."

"Not gonna argue with you on that one," laughed Aaron, standing and beginning to pick up the empty plates. "Grab the mugs will you Jackson?"

Finn watched them walk the short distance to their own van, carrying the plates and mugs between them. From where he stood, he couldn't tell if they were talking, but their heads were bent close together as though they probably were. He turned and climbed into their van, pulling the door closed behind him. Greg had already made a start on the pans but he raised his eyebrows quizzically as Finn slipped the lock on the door.

"Maximilian Crombie," said Finn firmly

"Pardon?" asked Greg, puzzlement clear on his face.

"Professor Crombie. You know, theology and philosophy...when I was studying at St Dunstan's College, now at Oxford," replied Finn

"Yes I know," said Greg, still bemused. "He's impossible to forget, the way he looks more like an Old Testament prophet than Isaiah." Greg closed his eyes briefly, casting his mind back, enjoying the memories of the times while Finn was studying, all the times they had seen the Professor since, even as he wondered why Finn had suddenly mentioned his old friend and tutor. "He was the one that made you write an essay on a conversation with God about being gay and a priest? The dichotomy between the two; could you be both?" He laughed suddenly remembering the angst and hair tearing of every word of that essay as he had lived it with Finn.

"Exactly!" said Finn sounding unaccountably pleased.

"And...?" prompted Greg as Finn said nothing more.

"And I'm going to phone him," said Finn.

"That's a bit...random, isn't it?" questioned Greg, still confused. "I mean it must be a year or so since you last saw him?"

"It's a while," agreed Finn "but we're Facebook friends and I saw him at that conference two months ago."

"He's on Facebook?" said Greg incredulously. He shook his head slightly, a feeling of unreality was beginning to overwhelm him; he had suddenly entered a parallel universe, it was still Finn in the camper van with him, but a Finn who had gone off at some tangent understandable only to himself. "Can you rewind a bit and tell me what you're talking about?" he asked.

"They all think I've got the answers," Finn sighed and sat on the tumble of their bed. "Simon and Robbie, Aaron and Jackson; and I haven't...I haven't got any answers at all." He looked up at his partner, his blue eyes troubled.

Greg dropped onto the unmade bed next to him, took him in his arms, held him, his fingers running through the unruly blond curls, catching occasionally on unseen tangles.

"I remember when I first met Aaron," continued Finn, "in the Abbey. He was still pretty fucked up about being gay. I think I helped him..." he shrugged but glanced up at Greg, needing his silent agreement. "But since then, everything that's happened...I think 'why them?' and now, with Jackson feeling like he does...I don't know what to do to help. I need someone to talk to, someone cleverer than me...than us. And I thought of Professor Crombie."

"Ah right," said Greg, understanding at last, feeling the fog of confusion clearing in his head. "Are you going to do it now? I'll go outside and leave you in peace." He stood, dropping a kiss on the blond hair as he moved towards the door.

"You don't need to go," said Finn, his fingers trailing down Greg's arm, catching his hand as he stepped away from him.

"I know," Greg smiled gently at him. "But I'll go and see what the others are doing, stop them speculating that we're up to ten types of naughtiness in here!"

A half smile turned the corners of Finn mouth as he watched Greg cross the van, unlock and open the door before jumping down, closing it again behind him. Sighing, a strange reluctance washing over him, despite knowing this was the best thing he had come up with during a long restless night and a morning where he felt every uncertainty a hundred times over, he picked up his phone and began scrolling through the names until he found the one he wanted. He clicked to connect the call.

...

Jackson tipped water from the large container into their kettle, setting it to heat on the gas camping stove. Aaron had already retrieved the plastic basin from the van and dumped it on the ground, plates and mugs beside it.

"You ok?" asked Aaron, leaning against the open back of the van watching Jackson readjusting the position of the kettle, balancing it more securely on the small stove.

"Yeah, of course," answered Jackson a touch sharply. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I just thought...after what we were talking about...before," nervously Aaron ran his fingers over his chin. "You were rather quiet this morning."

"Oh. That." Jackson stood, stretched and moved to stand beside Aaron at the van. "I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry. You've got your own stuff to deal with." He looked down, suddenly interested in his fingers twisting against each other.

Aaron shrugged his shoulders a little, shaking his head once or twice.

"I'm doing fine," he said, "well coping," he amended. "But we both need to get through this, like we did before."

"But it was different before," said Jackson. "Before it was both of us, we'd shared it...the experience, even though it was horrible. Now the only person you can share it with is dead and my head is full of 'what if's'," he snapped the last few words, jerking away from the van, then stalking around the far corner, out of Aaron's view.

"Jackson?" Caught off guard by his sudden departure, it was a second or two before Aaron gathered his wits enough to follow him

He hadn't gone far; he was leaning against the side of the van, facing into it, resting his face on his arms, folded in front of him, hiding.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his word muffled by his arms, "it's stupid. I'm being stupid...I just feel..."

"It wasn't your fault," said Aaron quietly, standing beside him but not touching him yet. "It honestly wasn't."

"I know it," said Jackson, not moving, "my head knows it, but actually believing it seems to be impossible somehow."

"You need to let it go," said Aaron gently. "So do I; if we don't it'll fester. It was horrible, but it's over now; we need to draw a line and move on."

Jackson turned then and looked at Aaron. "Give me a minute or two, eh?"

Aaron looked into Jackson's dark eyes, trying to read what was written in them; the hurt, the anxiety, the guilt. He nodded, only briefly touching Jackson's arm before he moved away, back to the kettle now singing on the gas stove. Slurping water into the bowl, he attacked the dishes.

...

"I need to hang on and wait for this phone call." Finn played with his mobile, moving it between his hands as he spoke. "And it might take a while, so you just go on; I can get a bus through and catch you up."

He had just left their van, his call disconnected only seconds before he jumped out onto the grass, making his way to where his friends had gathered, waiting for him.

"Oh we can't do that!"

"We don't mind waiting!"

"We'll just wait, go together!"

Their voices chimed together, protesting at his suggestion, only Greg said nothing, content to let Finn do what he needed to do.

"Honestly guys, it's fine," said Finn smoothly, looking round at each of them. "It's just a..." he paused, "...a parish matter. But it will probably take an hour or more and there is no point in you all hanging round here, waiting for me. You all go through and I'll phone you when I'm on my way."

"If you're sure," said Simon.

"Don't be too long," muttered Aaron.

"I'm sure," said Finn firmly, answering Simon but moving closer to Greg, sliding into his embrace as they all began to move, to get ready.

"Did you get him?" whispered Greg, "the professor?"

"Yes," replied Finn, equally quietly, his lips close to Greg's ear as they hugged. "But he couldn't talk then, he's gonna phone me back within the hour."

"And he was ok?" questioned Greg, "with you phoning him?"

"He was fine," answered Finn. "Now go, before the others start wondering what we are whispering about. I'll phone you." He bent his head, kissing Greg firmly, almost hungrily on the lips, glad again that they had each other.

It was quiet when the five men had left, Finn paced uneasily, impatiently, striding the few steps it took to cross the camper van, once, twice, again then moving outside, he stalked between the three vans, his phone in his hand. He looked at it, willing it to ring, willing it to have the answers he was looking for, that he needed.

He could feel his heart pounding as he stared at the slim, black phone; absently he rubbed at the smears across the screen his fingers had made, spreading them further. Lifting the edge of his tee shirt, he tried to rub away the marks but only spread them further still. At last, able to stand it no longer, he went back into their van and picked up a magazine. Flicking through, only the pictures were in focus, the words a blur before his eyes that he couldn't read, that he hardly bothered to try to read.

He felt sick, his breakfast sitting heavily in his stomach, anxiety clenching at his guts; he tried to breathe slowly, calming himself. It was just a phone call he chided himself; just a phone call, not a miracle.

He looked at his watch – and saw watched time ticking so slowly past. He flung the magazine away from him.

The sudden sharp jangle of the musicthat was his ringtone cut across his agitation and he grabbed at the phone beside him, almost dropping it in his haste to answer, a quick glance at the screen assuring him it was the call he had been waiting for.

"Professor!" he sighed into the phone, feeling the weight on his shoulders lifting imperceptibly as he heard the gruff, reassuring voice reaching out to him.


	24. Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

"So! What now?" asked Simon. Robbie had driven and they had parked the camper van in a large out of town car park and taken a shuttle bus into the city centre, which had dropped them in a busy, shop lined street with an area free of traffic leading away from them. "Are we splitting up or staying together? Shopping? Pub?"

"I could really do with getting a new phone," said Aaron, "I feel lost without one, but that's all I want to do. Jackson?"

"Whatever," Jackson shrugged. "I've nothing to do particularly."

"There's the part of town called The Lanes," said Robbie. "Remember Simon? There's lots of little shops selling really unusual stuff..."

"And really expensive stuff," interrupted Simon.

"Well yes," admitted Robbie. "But it was fine for a wander round; there were bars and cafes too."

"Right, well how about we go off and look at phones," said Aaron, looking at Jackson, including him in the plan. "Then we'll meet up when we're done."

A few minutes later Aaron and Jackson were alone; they set off in the opposite direction to the one taken by Robbie, Simon and Greg. Every town centre had phone shops by the dozen and they were sure they would find one without too much difficulty.

Aaron glanced at Jackson; he looked the same as he always did, walking jauntily beside him, his dark hair already curling damp against his head from the heat, his skin tanned a warm golden brown, his muscular arms swinging easily by his side. Aaron let his eyes outline the curve of his shoulder unhidden by his sleeveless tee shirt, travel down the swell of his biceps, drinking in the strength of his arms, the arms that held him each night, that despite everything, he still wanted to engulf him. Jackson must have been aware of his scrutiny then, he turned his head, his lips curling into a soft smile behind the spread of hairs that covered his chin. But it was his eyes that held Aaron's attention, his dark, chocolate eyes that usually danced with light, with laughter, now seemed to hold the hurt he felt within them. Aaron blinked and looked again but it was as though Jackson had drawn a veil over his emotions, not wanting to let Aaron in again.

"What kind of phone are you wanting?" he asked.

It didn't take long to find the shop for the network Aaron wanted, nor to pick a phone. He fingered the sleek casing admiringly.

"It's better than my last one," he mused, remembering.

"I can give it a bit of a charge for you, if you are okay to wait for a few minutes," the assistant offered.

"We could get a coffee and come back, maybe?" suggested Aaron, "if that's okay," he added, looking at the assistant for confirmation.

"Perfect," smiled the assistant cheerfully. "There's plenty of choice nearby."

They decided on getting take away polystyrene mugs of coffee and meandered between shops, gazing in windows but buying nothing in shops that could be found in every town centre in the country.

Returning to the shop, they collected the new phone, Aaron slipping it into his pocket, carrying the packaging, the accessories in a plastic bag.

"Just have to remember the new number and re-enter all my contacts," he quipped.

"If you bring your old sim in, we can transfer the information directly," said the assistant helpfully.

"Lost it, I'm afraid," shrugged Aaron apologetically. Beside him, he could feel Jackson stiffen, his body suddenly tense. The shutters of Aaron's mind were as firmly closed against unwanted memories as he could make them, he didn't understand why Jackson couldn't do the same, why he felt it so much; after all, it wasn't even a memory for him, only a story he'd heard. Suddenly Aaron felt that he was walking on eggshells.

As they left the shop, Jackson used his phone to call Robbie to find out where their friends were. It took only a few minutes to make their way towards the criss-cross of narrow streets and alleyways called The Lanes and a few more to find the coffee shop where they sat at outside tables, half finished mugs of coffee in front of them.

Pulling two more chairs across, Jackson and Aaron sat down but refused any more coffee.

"So? You got a phone then?" said Simon to Aaron, nodding at the bag dropped at his feet.

"Yep," grinned Aaron, taking his new phone from his pocket and handing it to Simon; leaning towards him, he began to show Simon his new toy.

"Phew! Nice!" exclaimed Simon. "Was it expensive?"

Aaron bit his lip and pulled a face. "It was, kinda...but I think I got quite a good deal," he smirked.

"Aaron Livesy! You slut!" exclaimed Simon. "You were flirting with the salesman!"

"I was not!" protested Aaron, although not very forcefully.

"Go you!" laughed Simon. Moving a little on his chair, he suddenly caught sight of Jackson, of dark eyes flashing with a mix of emotions Simon couldn't quite place. Hurt was there, confusion, but was there a flash of anger too, quickly hidden?

"No. Right, of course not," said Simon quickly, trying to cover his awkwardness. "Everyone finished then? Shall we go?" He stood up, pushing his chair backwards; suddenly he felt uncomfortable, needing to move, to give himself time to think. The look he had glimpsed so fleetingly crossing Jackson's face unsettled him; had he read it correctly, had he imagined it? Aaron seemed fine; actually Aaron seemed almost too fine, you might think the last week hadn't happened.

The labyrinth of narrow streets and alleyways were buzzing with people, strolling from window to window, admiring the unusual and exotic luring them in to the small shops. Meandering slowly, the group of friends wandered happily, buying nothing but entertained by their surroundings.

Jackson tried to keep a smile on his face, tried to join in the banter but his stomach was in knots. He had been surprised when Aaron had flirted with the salesman in the phone shop, except it wasn't even really flirting, just a bit of friendly chat, but Jackson didn't know how he could speak so easily, so casually, to someone he didn't know, to someone who could be anyone. He took a deep breath, peering unseeing into another shop window; he knew he was over reacting, he knew Aaron hadn't done anything wrong, but he couldn't help the thoughts in his head, however irrational he knew them to be, however dreadful they made him feel.

He trailed after the other men, fighting with himself, with the conflicting words and feelings battling within him. He didn't want to spoil what remained of the holiday, but he couldn't just turn off the overwhelming sense of guilt that dragged at his heart.

"That'll be Finn," said Greg stopping suddenly and reaching for his phone. He spoke briefly before disconnecting the call. "He's just on the bus; I'm going to head back to the centre of town to meet him. We'll catch up with you guys later."

"Ha! You're keen," laughed Simon. "You not getting enough?"

"Just need to feast my eyes on his gorgeousness," retorted Greg, winking. "We'll phone to see where you are." He peeled away from the other four men; glad for the moment to have some time to himself. He was sure they could all feel the undercurrents of strain running between them and a short time alone would let him clear his head a little.

He made his way through the busy streets, not entirely sure of his way but he had time enough to find his way back to the part of town where the bus had dropped them earlier and a bit of mindless wandering and window shopping held something of an appeal to him at that moment.

He was at the bus stop in time to watch more than one bus arrive, only minutes between each of them but didn't see Finn until he was jumping quickly down the three steps to the ground and moving rapidly towards him.

"Well?" he asked as Finn clasped him firmly by the arm and led him out of the mainstream of people walking purposefully along the pavement. "Did you speak to the professor? What did he say? Did he have any suggestions?" Greg fired the questions at him in quick succession.

Finn didn't speak until he found an oasis, a corner out of the main thoroughfare of people where two shop windows met. Finn stopped then leaned his back against the window.

"Yes I spoke to him, but it wasn't as much help as I'd hoped," he sighed. "He isn't at home – he retired to Eastbourne, although he's still attached to the university, I'd hoped to meet up – but he's lecturing in America just now. So although we were on the phone for ages, it just wasn't enough time."

There was anguish in Finn's tone, frustration too; he had pinned so much hope on that one phone call, help had seemed so close – and it had been good to talk to the professor, his former mentor, but did it really take him...them...Jackson, any further forward? Was he any more confident of his ability to help? The professor had seemed to think so; his words had been calm, reassuring, his faith a comfort; as Finn had voiced his doubts he had gently led him from the darkest thoughts troubling his mind towards a tiny chink of light he conjured from the darkness.

Quickly Finn gave Greg an outline of their transatlantic conversation. "I don't know Greg," he said as he reached the end, "I just don't know if we can help him; if we are enough?" Disregarding the people passing beyond their cocoon, he pulled Greg towards him, burying his head in his shoulder, gathering strength from the arms holding him. For a second or two they stood motionless, oblivious to their surroundings until Finn gently stood Greg back from his body.

"I guess we'd better go and find them," he said, a tight, resigned smile barely curling his lips.

They made their way to the seafront; with Greg's call to Robbie they had discovered that their friends were walking along the prom, heading towards the pier. It didn't take them long to catch up, avoiding the distraction of interesting shops it was only a matter of minutes before Finn and Greg rounded a corner and saw them hovering at the entrance to the restored pier, peering through the crowds, watching for them.

"We found this shop," said Aaron excitedly, " it sells nothing but rock, not like just a stick of rock with your name through, but rock shaped like food, other sweets, look!" He held a small bag open for Finn and Greg to admire.

Finn glanced into the bag and tried to catch his eyes as he muttered some vague words of admiration, but for once Aaron wouldn't look at him; Finn could feel the pent up energy, the tension in him, taut as a bow string pulled to its limit, poised on a precipice for long seconds before exploding in a release of energy almost beyond control.

Oh God! Finn felt the words flood through his mind, unsure if he was uttering a prayer or a profanity. He glanced towards Robbie and Simon, raising his eyebrow a fraction by way of a question.

But it was impossible to get an answer as they moved together in unspoken agreement towards the pier. Almost as soon as they began wandering along the pier, away from the shelter of the shore, they felt the wind beginning to increase, but a warm wind, blustering their tee shirts, whipping their words from their mouths even as they spoke.

At last Finn had a chance to slip into step beside Simon and confident that the wind would take his words before they could reach either Aaron or Jackson, he quizzed Simon on the atmosphere he had felt so strongly, so uncomfortably.

"They had an argument," replied Simon, steadily keeping his eyes forward, not looking directly at Finn. "It came out of nowhere, after Greg had gone to meet you; Aaron wanted to go into a shop, I actually think he wanted to get something for Jackson," Simon added, almost as an aside, "but suddenly Jackson kicked off...he totally lost it for a few seconds..." Now Simon stopped walking, they had fallen a little behind the others and he paused, leaning back against the railings. "It was over...so quickly, it was like he couldn't let Aaron go. And Aaron just snarled at him, said he would do what he wanted and he couldn't stop him. And he went...though I think it was into a different shop then. And since then...well you can see; Jackson is silent and Aaron is...is high, like it's something else he's blocking out."

"Shit Si," breathed Finn. "What a bloody mess." Finn let his elbows rest on the railings,he gazed out; below him the sea churned and frothed, seething and bubbling as it crashed against the criss-cross metal supports of the pier. "How on earth has this happened?"

"It's just crazy," said Simon, not looking at Finn but watching the people walking past them, enjoying the novelty of walking over the water, of all the amusements crammed onto the narrow structure stretching into the ocean. "They've both been through some awful experiences; before it seemed like it was pulling them together, now it's as though it's dragging them apart. But I don't know if either of them really gets it." Simon paused, thinking. "Aaron seems to be ignoring what happened and Jackson is like...like winding himself up over it all."

"I was speaking to someone," admitted Finn, still talking to the ocean below him. "He described guilt as anger turned inward...do you think that makes sense...that Jackson is feeling guilty because he is angry at himself, angry at being helpless through it all."

"Makes as much sense as anything else," said Simon, his tone resigned. "Question is, what do we do about it?"

Finn said nothing at first, only shook his head helplessly. "I don't know...I thought I might get some ideas from...from the person I spoke to."

"And you didn't?" asked Simon gently, turning now to face his friend.

"Yes I did," replied Finn, sadly. "But I don't know if any of them are the right idea."

By some unspoken mutual consent, they began walking slowly again, further down the pier, further over the ocean. The bustling activity around them, the press of people passing up and down, the noise of the music coming from the arcades added to the fairground atmosphere that seemed so at odds with their mood.

Simon's phone pinged as a text message arrived. "They're heading for the rides at the far end of the pier," he read. "I'll say we'll get them down there," he said, entering a quick reply into his phone.

"D'you know," began Finn reflectively, " I want to go on the biggest, hardest, scariest thrill ride down there and just let forget everything else."

"We'd better go and find Greg then," quipped Simon, his usual humour reasserting itself.

Finn gave a brief chuckle, a single short gentle bark of strained laughter. "I so wish it was that simple," he said.

They made their way along the busy pier, passing the arcades and on to the far end. It felt as though they were miles out into the ocean, looking back, the seafront hotels and bars looked like dolls houses. The far end of the pier was wider than the body, spreading out and full of every seaside fun-fair ride imaginable. Loud pop music filled the air, air fragrant with the aroma of hot dogs, burgers and fried onions. People were everywhere, milling about, people watching people on the rides, waving, wandering enjoying the sunshine, eating ice creams.

Finn and Simon weaved their way between the crowds, trying to spot their friends, although Simon thought, for a brief, traitorous moment, how pleasant it was just wandering, without constantly looking between Aaron and Jackson, wondering who was going to break first.

"This is mad," said Finn, looking around him, "we'll never find them amongst this crowd."

"Let's have a quick look round first, then I'll phone Robbie," said Simon, not wanting to lose the peace amongst the madness any sooner than he had to.

They walked by the Waltzer, its speed, its short sharp jerking movements accompanied by squealing laughter fromyoungsters delighting in the speed without the fear of the thrill rides. Finn and Simon wandered around the outside of the ride although they didn't really expect to find their friends at the Waltzer, the Big Wheel maybe...or the Dodgems.

Simon spotted them first, or at least, spotted Aaron, Greg and Robbie hurtling around the rink, hitting each other, avoiding each other, chasing each other with reckless enthusiasm. He skimmed over the other occupants of the cars, looking for Jackson, not seeing him until he cast his glance further, over the spectators gathered around the edge of the rink, watching the drivers, waiting their turn. He was on the opposite side of the rink from them, hadn't seen them, his gaze intently following Aaron as he careered, lurching from one end of the rink to the other, his face grimly set, unsmiling.

Simon nudged Finn, nodding in Jackson's direction, drawing his attention to the other man. "He looks just so...so unlike himself," said Simon. It might just have been the harsh, flickering lights pulsing in time to the music, casting unflattering lights and shadows across his face, but to Simon Jackson's face looked sunken, his cheeks hollowed, drawn in on themselves, only his short, curling beard, a limited disguise.

"Come on," Finn touched Simon's shoulder, emphasising his words above the noise. "We'd better go round to him, but just try and act normal. Upbeat."

Simon raised an eyebrow sceptically but followed Finn around the outside of the dodgem rink, making their way to where Jackson stood, almost forlornly amongst the crowds.

"Hey!" exclaimed Simon in feigned surprise, "I'm amazed we found you in this crowd; it's mad isn't it?" He slid close behind Jackson, putting his arms casually over his shoulders, letting his chin rest on Jackson's shoulder. "How come you're not on the dodgems?"

"Never liked 'em, even as a kid," replied Jackson, not moving, not turning to Simon, only leaning his head to one side until it touched Simon's. "It was the crackling above my head...freaked me out."

"But you'll go on some of the other stuff, won't you?" asked Simon sounding confident of an affirmative answer. He moved sideways until Jackson couldn't help but look at him. "Finn said he wanted to go on the biggest and hardest thrill rides – I said I thought it might be a bit public for Greg, but..."

"Cheeky git," interrupted Finn, copying Simon's attempt at good humour. "I could do with a burger or something, d'you guys want anything? There's a stall just over there; we can still see the others when they come off the dodgems."

They moved awkwardly through the crowds, easing their way the few yards between the observers at the dodgems to the queue at the burger stall. All the while, between them, Finn and Simon kept up a flow of words, talking of nothing, conjuring banter from some inner strength that could bypass the anxiety that ate at their hearts and souls.

Jackson hadn't protested when Finn pushed a burger into his hands; he hadn't spoken much as they stood in the queue waiting, but Finn thought his face had softened a little, some of the tension leaving it, at least for the moment.

They stood aside from the burger stall, a slight thinning of the crowd between one attraction and another giving them room to move more easily.

"Oh that was ace! Did you see us? There was this one kid kept chasing us, but we were like protecting each other." Aaron almost bounced up to them; he was talking quickly, moving, small, fidgety movements, his hand sweeping across his short hair, across his lips, his chin as he looked about himself, at his friends, at anyone but Jackson.

"You enjoyed it then?" asked Finn, although it wasn't really a question.

"It's years since I've been on them," continued Aaron, hardly pausing for breath. "But that was magic fun; you should come on them next time."

"There're loads of other rides to go on," laughed Finn, "we can always come back to them later. What about the roller coaster? How are you with them Jackson?"

Simon caught the look Aaron flashed at Jackson, quizzical, an eyebrow briefly raised, but he said nothing, leaving Simon with a sudden, vivid impression of the distance that had sprung up between them.

"Roller coasters I can do,"said Jackson, his tone rather self deprecating, his words directed towards Finn and Simon. A wry smile curled at the corners of his lips but didn't reach his dark eyes, eyes that didn't look towards Aaron at all.

They wandered between the amusements, stopping to watch them, riding them; the speed, the thrill on the edge of fear driving all thoughts of the moment from their minds, from the preoccupation that was always there, always worrying. Each of them cast glances at their friends, covertly watching them, gauging their reactions, trying to guess what they were thinking, how they were feeling, how they were coping.

Aaron flung himself into every ride, every experience, with enthusiasm, with seemingly boundless energy propelling him ever onwards. Almost urgently he moved from one ride to the next, almost as though he was afraid to stop, to be still, to let his thoughts free in his mind. It was easier instead to talk about nothing, only the mundane minutiae of the moment; it was easier too to almost ignore Jackson. Almost.

Jackson didn't go on every ride, but he went on some; others he was content to watch, standing alone or with Robbie or Simon, Greg or Finn or whoever didn't go on them. But not with Aaron, never with Aaron. He tried not to watch him; he pretended not to watch him. He tried not to see someone hold him, hurting him, every time he looked at him, but however much he tried, the pictures wouldn't leave his head.

"We should maybe think about heading back to the van and getting back to the camp site if we're still going out tonight," said Robbie at last. They had been on every ride, some twice and the afternoon was heading into early evening. "And dunno about the rest of you, but I want a shower before we hit the bars."

"Yeah, you're right," said Greg amongst the general agreement. They began to make their way off the pier, the crowds had thinned a little and it was easier to move down the deck towards dry land. It didn't take them long to find their way through the town to the shuttle bus stop and only waited a few minutes before the double decker arrived.

It was almost an hour after leaving the pier that they arrived back at the camp site. They had already made the decision not to bother with a meal before heading back into town, they would get something there.

Robbie parked the van in the space they had left between the two other vans. In silence Aaron and Jackson climbed out and walked the short distance to their van. The sliding side door was on the far side and Aaron could stand out of the scrutiny of their friends, feeling like he was breathing again at last, as Jackson fumbled with the keys, unlocking it.

Jackson climbed in first and flung himself on the mattress. For a few more moments, Aaron hesitated outside; the tension between them was almost palpable, filling the air. Aaron felt sure that if he put out his hand, made a fist, he could capture a handful of it. He needed to do something, say something, Jackson was just laying there, on the bed, their bed, looking so sad, he couldn't bear it. Stepping into the van, he drew a deep, steadying breath.

"Jackson. I'm sorry," he stood awkwardly, hunched under the ceiling too low for his height, unsure what to do. "I shouldn't have had a go at you...said what I did. It's just..." he paused, "...it's hard to deal with this, with everything. We keep saying we need to get through it, but I don't know how."

"And you think I do?" asked Jackson scornfully. "I don't know who's more fucked up, you for ignoring it or me for not letting it go."

"I'm not ignoring it," said Aaron quietly. He crouched down beside the mattress, nearer to Jackson. "I can't escape it, the memories are always with me; I feel sick thinking about it, even while I'm trying so hard not to."

Jackson turned to face Aaron then, his eyes liquid pools of unshed tears. "I can't do this," he whispered, "I can't get it out of my head. I've tried."

"Then you need to keep trying," said Aaron urgently, leaning forward now, touching Jackson for the first time in hours, letting his hand rest on his arm. "We both do."

Jackson put his hand on top of Aaron's; saying nothing, letting his fingers slide over Aaron's, clasp them, then lock. He pulled Aaron towards him, on top of him; suddenly he was kissing him and there was nothing gentle about it but a hard urgency, basic, almost animalistic in its need as his mouth sucked and bit. His hands moved quickly over Aaron's body, tugging at the clothes that were hampering him, denying him access.

"Turn over!" gasped Jackson. He broke away, moving enough to rest his hand against Aaron's body, pushing him over to lie face down on the mattress. "I just want you so much!" His hands grasped roughly at the trousers Aaron was wearing, pulling them off his arse but not waiting to pull them lower, to lose them altogether. He shrugged his own trousers off his hips; his cock was already hard and straining to be free.

Quickly straddling Aaron, Jackson leant over him, pushed up his tee shirt and put his lips to the warm, sweaty skin of his back, once, twice, nipping at the tender skin with his teeth. He moved one hand lower, kneading Aaron's butt cheek. Underneath him, he could feel Aaron begin to move, could feel his hips begin to move against his touch. He moved his hand, letting his fingers stray the length of Aaron's crack, pausing to sweep over his hole, already puckering, anticipating his touch; feeling rather than hearing a deep groan of arousal escaping, despite himself, from the centre of Aaron's being.

Jackson moved, positioning himself so that his cock was jutting eagerly at Aaron's arse, keen to enter him. He raised his hips a little, pushed, desperate to be there, fucking him.

Aaron tensed, his arse tightened, resisting. "Don't go in without lube," he gasped in sudden panic, half turning.

"Where is it?" groaned Jackson impatiently, scrabbling one-handed around the area of the mattress as he spoke. His cock was aching, needing the release of pushing into Aaron's tight arse; raw desire was flooding through his body it was hard to wait for even a few moments.

"Here!" Aaron found the tube first and flung it back towards Jackson. Turning back, he buried his face hard against the pillow, his hands making fists in the sheets tangled underneath him, his body desperate, betraying him, but dread filling him at the thought of Jackson, this sudden strange and guilt ridden Jackson, entering him.

Jackson grabbed the lube, twisting the cap off, discarding it. Squeezing a handful of the clear gel into his hand, he rubbed it hurriedly along his fingers before going back to Aaron's crack, his fingers pushing along the full length of it, smearing the gel widely.

Not waiting now, his fingers biting into Aaron's shoulders as he gripped him, gaining purchase for himself, Jackson pushed, hard and desperate, ungently entering him in one brief, harsh movement, ignoring the cry Aaron couldn't stifle.

It hurt! It burned like hell; it felt as though he was being invaded as Jackson entered him, leaving him no time to stretch, to adjust, before he started pushing in and out, fucking him. He couldn't help the cry, the single gasp of agony as Jackson's full length filled him.

Through the pain ripping through his arse, he felt Jackson's rhythm begin to flow. Unconsciously he began to match his movements to Jackson's, pushing himself backwards, taking as much cock inside him as possible. His whole body was consumed with the pain that was so close to pleasure that it was indistinguishable. His hand made fists, gripped the crumpled sheet underneath him, steadying himself as Jackson thrust harder and harder; he bit down on his lip, stifling the sobs that were silently meeting the pillow in time to the rhythmic pounding into his arse. His own cock was rigid but for the moment pressed hard against the mattress as Jackson was intent only on his own need.

In some corner of his mind, Jackson knew it was too much, knew he was punishing Aaron for his own hurt, but he couldn't stop himself, he could only fuck that sweet arse until he was spent. But he didn't think Aaron was complaining, after that single first cry he had kept time with every movement, every thrust. But he was close now, close to being satisfied, sated. One. Last. Thrust. And he was done. Shuddering, his hands gripped Aaron's hips as he held himself in for a moment, unable to easily move until his breathing steadied and he was able to slip his cock out.

Rigidly aching, Aaron turned underneath the weight of his lover.

"Now you," said Jackson; reaching out, he grasped Aaron's cock, his fingers gripping firmly; he began to roughly stroke it, once or twice pausing to let his thumb rub over the head, his slit, feeling shudders of increasing tension running through Aaron's body hard against him.

His movements were skilful, well practiced; he could have teased out the moment, making it last as long as possible but now his hands worked quickly, almost automatically until he felt the crescendo building, the waves pulsing, until he knew he could hold back the flood gates no longer and he made the last, final movement, his eyes closed as Aaron's orgasm ripped through his body.

He didn't see the last tears Aaron hastily wiped away from his eyes

They lay in silence then, their bodies, still half clothed, dripping in sweat, their breathing rapid, the panting gasp of exertion only slowly diminishing.

"I'm sorry," said Jackson, not moving.


	25. Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

"What are you doing?" asked Aaron a short while later, sliding uncomfortably into the seat opposite Simon. It was a rhetorical question; he could see exactly what he was doing.

"Putting on make up. "He squinted across the table at Aaron. "Just eye liner and mascara; d'you want some?"

"No!" exclaimed Aaron scornfully. "What are you putting that stuff on for anyway? You've never done it before."

"Oh yes he has," said Robbie, moving into the seat next to Aaron, flapping his hand at him to get him to move up and give him room. "He always puts it on when we go out."

"Not in Hotton though?" questioned Aaron.

"Yes in Hotton," confirmed Simon, "you've just never noticed before. And I'm not going out in Brighton – the gay capital of the south – without putting any on," he said adamantly. "Finn was in a while ago to borrow some," he added, looking at Aaron properly at last.

"Was he?" said Aaron, sounding surprised, puzzled. "You mean he's gonna put that...that...put make up on?"

"He's already done it," replied Simon, looking back at his reflection in the small mirror he was holding. "Sat where you are now a while ago and did it. Took you long enough to get showered and changed, didn't it?" He peered over the mirror and looked intently at Aaron

Aaron ran his hand over his hair, still damp from the shower, feeling awkward. "We were...er...talking," he said, not meeting his eyes, trying to shrug off any further questioning from Simon.

"Right," said Simon, non-committally. "So, what d'you think?" He put the mirror down and stared at Aaron, then gestured towards his eyes.

"Oh? It's okay I guess. I can't really see much difference," replied Aaron uncertainly.

"You can't!" declared Simon, pleased. "It just opens up your eyes a bit. Here!" He stood up then perched on the table, leaning over towards Aaron, resting one, steadying hand across his face, the other taking up the eyeliner pencil.

"Hey!" exclaimed Aaron, pulling backwards.

"Oh stop being a wuss," said Simon, catching his face again. "You can wash it off if you don't like it. Now keep still." Deftly he applied the eye liner, first one eye then the other, using his finger to smudge the line. He paused, leaning back to admire his handiwork. "Right look up now and don't fidget or you'll get this in your eye." He waved the mascara wand in front of Aaron's face.

His gaze intent, he carefully brushed the mascara over Aaron's eyelashes.

"What's going on here?" Jackson climbed into the van, his quick glance taking in the surprising scene before him. "Make up? That's not like you Aaron." There was an edge to his voice.

"It's just for a laugh," said Simon to Jackson. "There, what do you think?" He held the mirror up for Aaron to look at himself.

"Are you just about ready?" asked Jackson sharply. "If we don't head soon it will hardly be worth going." Turning abruptly, he left the van.

Above Aaron's head, Simon glanced at Robbie, both wondering what was up now. Surely Aaron and Jackson had been making up, hadn't they?

"So what d'you think?" asked Simon. "D'you like it?"

"Actually it's not as bad as I thought," admitted Aaron, turning his head from side to side, admiring the effect.

"Gonna wash it off?" asked Robbie.

"I think I'll leave it," he said rather sheepishly, "just for tonight though, I'm not making a habit of it."

"I'm sure Cain would love it if you turned up at the garage in full slap!" laughed Simon.

Aaron pulled a face; but at least it was better thinking of Cain rather than Jackson. The sharpness of his words hadn't escaped Aaron's notice although he had made no comment; he didn't really understand why he had spoken so sharply, or what had happened such a short while ago in their van...well it was just something else to worry about, but not now. Now it was something else to try and banish from his mind, even as his sore arse and aching guts couldn't let him forget.

"Right! Let's gather up the troops and get back into town," said Robbie briskly, standing back to let the others leave in front of him. Jumping out last, he locked the door behind them all.

...

The buses ran frequently into town, throughout the evening and into the night, winding their way through narrow country lanes, climbing the hills with a chuff and chug, picking up speed on the downward slope, stopping frequently. It seemed an age before the houses began to fill the each side of the road, merge together in a gentle urban sprawl, suburbia before they turned onto larger roads and the buildings became more densely packed together, the traffic grew in volume and the bus decreased in speed even further. At last they neared the city centre and the streets became familiar from their visit earlier in the day.

"This way," said Robbie confidently, leading the way. "Most of the bars and clubs are just a bit further on from where we were today at the pier."

They quickly left the shopping area, semi deserted now with the shops all closed, only a few people, some passing through like themselves, others hanging round, perched on benches gossiping, passing time.

"D'you actually know where you're going?" asked Greg a minute or two later.

"Yes. More or less," replied Robbie. "All roads lead to gay bars in Brighton. We need to cross the main road then there will be plenty to choose from."

They crossed a main road to a large garden area, an island surrounded by roads busy with traffic even at that time of day. Here the benches were all full with people enjoying the warm summer evening; a large fountain dominated the centre of the garden, the tumbling water adding a counterpoint to the rumbling traffic. On the far side, the ornate palace was already illuminated although there was still too much daylight to appreciate the lights properly; perhaps later. For now they didn't linger, but crossed a second main road before heading back towards the seafront.

In case there was any doubt, a rainbow flag fluttered outside several of the bars in the row of buildings facing the sea.

"In here?" suggested Greg.

"We can start here," agreed Simon, "but I'm sure I remember there was a really nice bar and club a bit further along the road."

The picture windows of the bar were open, all the tables beside them occupied and there were plenty of people filling the remaining tables and lining the bar. Cheerful music played but wasn't yet overwhelmingly loud and they made their way to the bar, ordering bottles of beer.

"It's not quite Bar West, is it?" said Aaron.

"Aw don't knock the old West," said Simon, "least we've got one gay bar in Hotton."

"Which is one more than we've got," laughed Finn.

Conversation flowed easily between them, the tensions of the day apparently forgotten as they watched the buzz of people around them; friends meeting and greeting, strangers edging cautiously around each other then leaving together or moving apart.

They moved on to another bar further along the seafront; the tables on a long terrace, open to the twilight evening were full, but people were perched on the low wall that surrounded the terrace and they found space enough to sit in a line.

Finn came back from the bar, holding three bottles of beer by the neck in each hand. "The guy at the bar said the club next door is really good, though it doesn't get busy till after eleven." Handing the bottles around, he dropped easily to the floor and sat cross-legged in front of his friends.

"And you want to go?" surmised Greg, looking down at him, an eyebrow raised quizzically although he knew the answer already.

"Of course!" said Finn rather smugly. "Doesn't everybody?" He glanced round between his friends, knowing that had been the plan for the evening all along and Greg was just teasing him.

Jackson looked at his watch. "It's half ten now, just after; plenty of time for another couple here before we go to this club. We don't want to be there too early."

Even with the daylight completely gone now, it wasn't cold, there wasn't even a breeze coming in from the sea, just the faint tang of salt tasting the air. Coloured lights were draped under the parasols above each table, their gentle light pooling on the surface below, tiny gems of light reflecting in the glasses standing there. Along the side of the road, more coloured lights were strung from lamp post to lamp post; there was still plenty of traffic traversing the main road, convertibles and cars with the windows down, music blaring from many of them, allowing brief snatches of a songs to blend with the music in the bars lining the road before each car moved on.

As the clock crept towards eleven the bar began to fill up; where there had been enough space to move there were now people standing, pressing closer together as every new group entered the bar. At the bar, the queues for drinks grew longer, the bar staff working at top speed filling orders.

"I don't think I have ever seen so many gay folk in one place," marvelled Aaron, looking around him.

"And this is only one bar, there's loads of others in town," said Robbie.

"It's amazing," said Aaron looking at all the people around him, guys with guys, sitting draped together, kissing, holding hands; girls with girls, arm in arm, hands slipped into the waistband of trousers, casually, comfortably touching each other.

"It's nice to visit, but I wouldn't want to be amongst this all the time," said Jackson, "it's too full on."

"Oh I don't know," mused Aaron, "it might be good for a change. Not forever," he added hastily seeing the look of surprise Jackson was giving him, "but for a while; a few months."

Jackson didn't say any more, it wasn't the time, but he couldn't believe what Aaron was saying, after everything he had been through recently; that he could consider living among such madness.

"Nah, you'd soon get fed up of it," said Greg. "When we lived in London it was brilliant to start with, we were out all the time; but really, the scene is pretty toxic, it eats you up and spits you out."

"Never had you down as a scene queen," teased Simon, pulling a face at Aaron.

"Behave!" growled Aaron good-naturedly. "I'm not...it's just that it's so different. And it is kind of intriguing."

"It is," agreed Finn, "when it's so different from your everyday world. But don't knock where you live too much, you're pretty lucky; you live in a small place but don't get any hassle, you've friends about you," he nodded towards Robbie and Simon, "and your family are cool. A lot of guys would give their eye teeth to have what you've got."

"Yeah, I know," said Aaron, even as he spoke he glanced, slightly wistfully, around the bar, "it's just...oh I don't know." He shook his head slightly, wiping his fingers lightly across his chin as he abandoned any attempt to explain what he felt. "C'mon, looks like folk are beginning to move next door."

He was right; almost imperceptibly there was a movement of people drifting towards the door, a thinning of the crowded spaces in the bar as the lure of the club, of loud music that filled heads, vibrated through bodies, of dancing the remainder of the night away drew the revellers to the source of that delight.

They finished their drinks and following the direction that everyone seemed to be taking, easily found their way the short distance from the bar to the club.

It was a cavernous space; a long, L-shaped bar flanked two sides of the large dance floor. There was a gallery; a confection of steel mesh and girders giving a view down on the dancing bodies and dancing lights playing across the dance floor for those that wanted to watch the swirling, gyrating mass of dancers below. There was another bar upstairs and plenty of low, comfortable seating for those who had things other than dancing on their minds.

It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the flickering, flashing lights that spun and danced, catching and highlighting the moving bodies already on the dance floor. They made their way towards the bar, then stood for a few minutes just watching, acclimatising themselves to the space around them

"This is an amazing place," said Robbie, shouting above the noise of the music to make himself heard. "I wonder what it was before."

"Goodness knows," shouted Finn back, "but who cares, I love this song, c'mon Greg!" Passing his drink to Robbie as the closest to him, he caught Greg by the arm and led him to the dance floor. Weaving their way between twisting and turning bodies until they were two or three deep into the dance floor, they let the music take them, let their movements mirror each other, complement each other as the pounding rhythm became the only thing that mattered to them.

Aaron and Jackson watched them at first until they become lost in the swirl of dancers filling the floor.

"Do you want to...?" Aaron began awkwardly, nodding towards the dance floor. He didn't really care for dancing, although he had had a bottle or three of beer, which made it easier. And besides, he knew Jackson usually liked to dance. With him.

"Maybe later, let's have a wander round first; from up there we could get a good view." He raised his head, looking up at the gallery, at the people, the guys, mostly guys, looking back down at them. He began making his way through the bodies, now packing ever closer, towards one of the open steelwork stairways.

From the balcony they got a bird's eye view down onto the dance floor, down on to the bodies pulsating with movement and light reflected from the coloured lights that raked across the space in time to the bass beat of the music. It wasn't quite so busy, there was still room to move along the balcony and further back, to the darker space filled with large, comfortable seats. They walked a little way around the balcony then stood, leaning against the railing, watching.

"There!" exclaimed Aaron moments later, nudging Jackson. "There's Finn and Greg."

Jackson followed the line of his gaze; once he was looking in the right direction, Finn was easy to spot, his height, the mass of blond curls as alive as any of the dancers. Even from where he stood, Jackson could see a few heads turning, watching, speculating.

"Same again?" asked Aaron, nodding once towards Jackson's bottle of beer.

"Might as well," said Jackson, necking the last of his drink and handing the empty bottle to Aaron to take up to the bar with him. He turned his attention back to the dance floor below him; Finn and Greg had moved from his sight for the moment but there were plenty of other people, other guys, to watch. Some of the guys had already lost their shirts in the heat of the club; their bodies glistening with sweat, glinting as the lights caught their smooth, sensuous movements in a dance that was all about sex.


	26. Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

For a while Jackson watched, entranced, by the play of bodies below him, undisturbed by the press of bodies beside him. Perhaps Aaron was right, perhaps it would be nice to be part of this world for a while, to enjoy the difference between the bustling city and sleepy Emmerdale and familiar, boring Hotton. Aaron! He'd been gone a while getting the drinks, even allowing for the bar being busy; Jackson felt a wave of fear wash over him. Turning he pushed between the bodies closest to him, hemming him in as he aimed towards the bar; smaller than the bar downstairs but still spanning the width of the balcony, still busy. At first he couldn't see Aaron; in his chest, his heart began pounding, he felt sick, suddenly and overwhelmingly as his eyes rapidly scanned the faces, the tens, perhaps hundreds, of nameless faces, looking for that one in the crowd.

He saw him! At last he saw him as the crowds parted for a fortuitous moment; he'd moved away from the bar, although not too far. He almost had his back to him but he could see that he had two bottles of beer in his hand; he was talking to someone, he could see his body move as he leant in to speak, to listen against the noise of the music blaring...it must be Simon perhaps or Robbie...who else? Suddenly he turned; a chill ran through Jackson, seeming to change his blood to ice in an instant. It wasn't Simon or Robbie, or even Finn or Greg; it was a stranger, an unknown face, a face that could belong to anyone; how could he!

Jackson felt anger beginning to replace the fear; a rippling, tingling, nerve-shattering anger infecting every fibre of his body. How could he – after everything, after the arguments, knowing how Jackson felt. How could he?

At that moment Aaron made to leave the other man; as he stepped away, Jackson saw his companion lean forward and clap Aaron on the arm, a friendly gesture only momentarily preventing Aaron from leaving as laughing they parted.

Jackson started, a jerky fidgeting jump, over almost before it began as Aaron moved away and began to head to where he had left Jackson at the balcony.

Weaving his own path through the crown, Jackson made a beeline towards Aaron. Catching up with him from behind, he reached forward, tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention.

"Who was that?" he yelled into Aaron's ear, wanting to ask the question despite the noise, despite the difficulty in hearing the answer.

"Just some lad," replied Aaron. They had come to a halt away from the balcony with the distraction of the dancers below, away from the soft, comfortable seating already full of couples or strangers quickly getting to know each other.

"Just some lad," repeated Aaron. "We got talking at the bar while we were waiting to be served. He was telling me this place used to be a cinema..." abruptly he stopped speaking, seeing the look on Jackson's face. "Oh don't start Jackson," there was an edge to his voice now, a set hardness about his face, "not now! I'm not gonna let those fuckers – any of them – control my life, make me afraid of speaking to a lad in a club so get over it!" He thrust one of the bottles of beer into Jackson's hand then moved away, heading towards the stairs that led to the lower level of the club.

Jackson didn't follow him immediately but took a long slug of his beer. He didn't know why he couldn't just let it go; it sounded as though it should be so easy. He stayed leaning against the railings for a few minutes, leaning with his back to dance floor below him, lost in his own thoughts, arguing with himself. He finished his beer in a second, long swallow and left the bottle on the nearest table.

It took Aaron a few minutes to find Simon and Robbie in the moving, teeming throng of bodies that swirled and seethed around him like the many parts of a single living organism, even those not on the dance floor were possessed by the throbbing heartbeat of the primeval music.

"Can I borrow him?" Aaron asked Robbie as he made a space for himself beside them. His arm rested easily around Simon's waist, ready to pull him onto the dance floor.

"Sure," laughed Robbie. "Where's Jackson?"

"Being an arse," answered Aaron shortly. It was hard to speak above the noise and right now he really didn't want to talk about Jackson at all.

He pulled Simon away from Robbie, towards the dance floor, missing the look that passed between them.

He wanted to close his eyes and let the music take him, fill him. He wanted to abandon himself to the sounds and rhythm filling his ears, to be alone in the crowd with only the deep vibration of the sound to sustain him. Instead he smiled at Simon, ignored the pain still clenching at his lower regions and tried to avoid too much accidental contact with the other bodies filling the dance floor, moving just enough to call it dancing.

At first Simon just danced, his movements fluid and lush as he twirled and turned around Aaron's more static stance.

"What's up?" he asked; he had his back to him but swayed provocatively so closely in front of him, twisting his head over his shoulder to speak to him. "What did Jackson do now?"

Aaron scowled, shook his head and turned away from him.

But Simon couldn't leave it at that and he put his arm out, catching Aaron's shoulder, turning him sharply to face him. "Tell me," he said, leaning close so that Aaron would hear him.

"I was speaking to this lad, just in the queue for the bar, it was nothing, but when I came back, Jackson...the look on his face; he was about to go off on one so I just left him to it." He looked away from Simon, to some unseen spot over his shoulder, biting his lip for a moment as he searched for the right words. "He just won't let it go."

Simon shook his head, he didn't understand what was happening; he had known Jackson for years and yes, it was awful what had happened to Aaron, what had happened to them both last year, but this...this wallowing in unfounded guilt just wasn't like him.

"I don't know what to do," continued Aaron. "It's hard enough coping, without him going all needy and drama queenie on me."

Around them the dancers still filled the dance floor, still danced fuelled by the loud, all consuming music, the drink, drugs maybe. But Aaron and Simon ignored them, only moved because it was impossible to stand still.

Simon put his arms loosely on Aaron's shoulders, his hands lightly linked behind his neck. "Maybe he needs to talk to someone when we get back, "he suggested, looking directly into Aaron's troubled eyes.

"Maybe," said Aaron.

Even with the music blaring, Simon could feel the hesitancy behind the single word, could sense the uncertainty behind the agreement.

"Simon. Look, can we just forget it for now? It's doing my head in and here..." he raised one hand slightly in a gesture that encompassed the crowded dance floor, the persistent beat of the loud music, "...here I just want to have a good night."

"Sure," Simon nodded. "But if you need to talk, tomorrow or whenever...I'm always here."

From his vantage point on the balcony, Jackson had eventually picked them out on the dance floor; seen their dancing change as their short exchange of words had made them lean in close, lips almost touching the other's ear as they struggled to make themselves heard above the dim. He couldn't hear those words, of course, but the gestures looked close, intimate and he could feel a tight knot of...of something nameless and unpleasant gripping his insides.

Suddenly cross with himself, Jackson flung away from the steel railing, away from the two people so visible in the crowds below. He was being ridiculous, he knew he was; Simon had been his friend for years, seen him through a few ups and downs, even before all the stuff last year with Aaron. He was friends with both of them now. Why shouldn't he talk to Aaron on the dance floor? It wasn't as though he knew they were talking about him for sure...maybe they were talking about the music?

He pushed through the crowd towards the bar, his insides still in seething turmoil; he wanted a drink, he needed a drink. It took a few minutes but he ordered a shot, necking it in one gulp standing at the bar despite the bodies behind him pressing forward, then slamming the glass back on the counter before moving away.

He made his way to the staircase, his eyes scanning the dance floor before he began to descend. He couldn't see them now; they'd moved, he'd moved, but it didn't matter, he'd find them soon enough. He began working his way around the edge of the dance floor, looking onto it, looking into the moving, swirling crowd, stopping at the bar for another swift shot, quickly drunk.

Leaving the dance floor as the music changed, Simon and Aaron made their way to where Greg, Finn and Robbie were gathered at a high table, little more than a shelf really, that surrounded one of the thick metal posts that supported the gallery. Glasses, bottles full and empty, filled the surface; Greg passed two fresh, full ones to Simon and Aaron.

"It's warm in here." Simon wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, then ran his fingers back through his hair, glancing down at the sweat gathered on his fingers. "I'm gonna nip out for a breath of fresh air. Anyone else?"

The others were content to stay and watched Simon make his way through the crowds, quickly lost from their sight. "Keep an eye out for Jackson," Robbie had whispered loudly in his ear against the noise of the music as he passed.

It was hard to keep up a conversation of any length but easy to stand, nurse their bottles of beer and watch the display preening masculinity on view all around them, surrounded by a miasma of sweat, beer and tired aftershave. There was smattering of classic dykes and lip stick lesbians, but their eyes skimmed over them, they were, tonight, outside the radar of their interest.

"Oh someone come and dance with me!" Aaron looked between his friends; it wasn't that he particularly like dancing, but being as close to the music, to be swallowed by it, was infinitely preferable to thinking, to worrying, about Jackson.

"Come on then," Finn moved beside him, catching his arm. "Let's go boogie!"

"Boogie?" Aaron mouthed at his back, pulling a face as he followed him, weaving a path through those not dancing only drinking and watching, towards the dance floor.

Suddenly Jackson saw them! Or at least, he saw Finn first, his height making him easy to spot; his eye quickly finding Aaron just beyond him. He watched them easing their way on to the dance floor, finding a space among the dancers to make their own. He watched them a moment or two longer, smiling, moving easily around each other; he didn't think they were talking, but there was a communication between their bodies, their eyes.

He waited until the tune they were dancing to faded almost seamlessly into the next before moving, making his own way onto the dance floor. He slid into place behind Aaron, touching him on his shoulder to get his attention, waiting for him to turn around.

"Can I steal you for this dance?" he asked, glancing from Aaron to Finn, hoping they would get the sense of his words even if they couldn't hear him too well above the music. He smiled tentatively, hopefully.

"On you go," grinned Finn, briefly putting his arms around both lad's shoulders, clapping them, before moving away from them, easing his way off the dance floor.

Aaron began to dance slowly; he was never at his most comfortable dancing but suddenly he felt shy, almost awkward, dancing with Jackson, which was silly, but it was as though he could feel the tensions between them creating a physical barrier.

Jackson was sure he could feel his heart banging in his chest, a sensation that had nothing to do with the music throbbing through his whole body and everything to do with the anxiety he felt, the twisting, insidious feelings stalking him that he couldn't shake, that he wanted to rid himself of so badly. Keeping his eyes fixed on Aaron's face; he put his hand out, entwined his fingers in Aaron's...and was relieved to feel an answering grip.

They stayed on the dance floor, not caring what music they were dancing to, only moving around each other, physically and in the looks they exchanges, the thoughts and feeling they tried to read in each other's eyes. Occasionally, once or twice, they were aware of Finn and Greg, or Simon and Robbie moving close by them, passing them in the ever changing swirl of dancers.

It was a moment, an unseen, simmering danger suddenly flaring to life; a flame springing from a spark that had glowed and smouldered all evening, all day, for several days.

It was a look, a comment, a few words exchanged and emotion, sharp as the keenest blade seared through heart and soul.

Eventually they left the dance floor, working their way through the crowds to the bar; it was a fraction quieter there, they could hear themselves think, speak, almost, as they stood, waiting to be served.

"Havin' a good night, mate?" The stranger's hand rested briefly on Aaron's shoulder as his eyes quickly flashed over his body. "Wanna dance?" he smiled.

"Thanks mate, but not just now, we're about danced out," Aaron smiled, nodding towards Jackson. He didn't see the stranger disappear, merge into the crowd, his attention was caught, his eyes riveted, to the blaze of fury flashing in Jackson's dark eyes.

"Who's he? Why did he ask you to dance?" hissed Jackson, pulling Aaron out from the queue, away from the crowd.

"I dunno," shrugged Aaron, trying to pull away from him. "Just some guy. What's up with you anyway?"

"Nothing's up with me," snapped Jackson. "It's you; you just don't seem to care! This last week...it's been hellish. You don't know what it was like for us, just waiting...not know what had happened to you, whether you were alive or dead. And now you are carrying on as though nothing happened, as though you weren't raped..."

"He didn't rape me..." Aaron whispered the words but in full flow against the noise in the club, Jackson didn't hear him, wasn't listening to him.

"...as though that other lad didn't die. That could have been you, you could have been dead now; but here you are, acting like, it was nothing, talking to anybody, not taking care..."

Even against the noise surrounding them, Aaron could hear his voice rising, trembling as anger and passion consumed him. Even his face seemed contorted with the strength of his emotion, his dark eyes, usually rich pools of liquid chocolate seemed to blaze with fury.

"...and not giving a damn how any of us feel; how fucking guilty I feel for letting you go to that shop on your own!"

"You didn't _let_ me go, Jackson," snapped Aaron suddenly, turning back to face him, taking a step towards him, "I went. It was a shop, just a shop!" He stopped, tilted his head back as he took a deep breath, struggled to keep calm. "Look. Can we not do this now?"

"We don't have to do it now; we don't have to do it ever! I'm out of here!"

Catching Aaron by surprise, off guard, Jackson turned abruptly and pushed his way through the crowds. In seconds Aaron had lost sight of him, his feet seemed rooted to the spot, it took several long seconds more before he could move, could try to follow him through the surging throng of bodies that seemed close in around him, hindering his passage.

Elbowing people aside, careless of the growls and grimaces of annoyance as he pushed his way through them, Aaron followed in the direction Jackson had taken. He tried to peer onto the dance floor, stopping long enough to crane his neck, standing tall, trying to see over the heads of the dances, to find the one he was looking for.

He pushed onwards, seeing neither Jackson, nor any other of his friends. Coming to the corridor that led away from the bar, from the dance floor towards the main entrance; the crowds were thinner, he could move more easily, but surely Jackson wouldn't have just left, would he?

He could feel a draught of cooler air coming towards him as he stepped further into the corridor; the lights were a little brighter here too, he could see knots of people, couples, more than couples, leaning against the wall, interested only in each other but there was no sign of Jackson. Barely stopping long enough to let the doorman grab his hand and stamp it, allowing him return entry, he pushed onwards, a cold feeling of dread beginning to invade the pit of his stomach.

Stepping out of the club onto the pavement he paused; he had no way of knowing which direction Jackson had taken, even if he had in fact left the club, he could easily have missed seeing him in the crowd. There were plenty of people still milling about outside, talking, smoking but not the one person he would recognise. He turned, began to make his way back towards the main road, the hum of the traffic still constant, a backdrop to all the other sounds of the busy town at play.

The noise came out of nowhere, the squeal of breaks shrieking, echoing from a short distance away, brakes fiercely applied, the need to stop urgent.

The cold dread in Aaron's stomach turned to ice.


	27. Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

High pitched screams mixed with deeper, masculine coherent cries for help; at first Aaron could see nothing around a bend in the road, only the inexorable surge of the curious, moving towards the noise, anxious to see what was happening. He followed; dread holding his leaden feet back, fear pushing him onwards.

Rounding the corner, he saw a number of cars already stationary, a queue building up along the road and a small group of people were gathered beside a car, separate from the rest, its hazard lights flashing, its driver being comforted. He looked long enough to register the woman, young and blonde, dressed for a night out before he turned his attention towards to crowd gathered around what must be someone lying on the road.

He couldn't see; he stood on tiptoe trying to look over the heads of the crowd, but everybody around him, in front of him was peering and curious.

"It's alright mate, lie still."

"There's an ambulance on the way."

He could hear the words above the muted muttering of the onlookers but was blinded by the bodies of those closest, helping, watching. Needing to be sure, he moved closer.

Jackson! "Jackson!"

He didn't know if he spoke out loud, cried out his name as the people in front moved fractionally, a subtle shift in the sea of voyeurs, but it was enough for him to catch a glimpse, a flash of a familiar tee shirt, spurring him through the sightseers milling around, ghouls watching someone else's nightmare unfold.

The sudden whirlwind of his arrival, the obvious urgency with which he was pushing through the two, three deep crowd, made the audience move a little, step aside without protest to let him through.

"Jackson!" He skidded to a halt, kneeling by Jackson's head. "How is he? What happened?"

"He was hit by that car; he came running out of nowhere, the driver didn't have a chance. D'you know him?" The man kneeling at the far side of Jackson's still body looked up at Aaron.

"He's my boyfriend," replied Aaron shortly. "Is he going to be alright?" Hesitantly Aaron reached out a hand, letting it rest on Jackson's chest; he could feel the reassuring movement as it rose and fell with his breathing, although the very act of breathing itself seemed to take something of an effort.

"Dunno mate, it was a glancing blow, caught him on the side so hopefully; there's an ambulance on the way."

"Jackson, Jackson!" Aaron leaned in closer, putting his hands to his shoulders.

"Don't move him, mate," the other man said quickly, putting a restraining hand on Aaron's arm, "it might do more damage."

"Yes...yes of course," stammered Aaron awkwardly, lifting his hands; abstractly he put his steepled fingers to his lips

Cutting through all the other noises of the night, the sound of sirens, closing the distance between them with every passing second, was the most welcome sound Aaron thought he had ever heard. Behind him, the gathered onlookers moved back from the road allowing the ambulance to pull to a halt close beside where Jackson lay in the centre of the road.

Two paramedics, dressed in their distinctive green uniform, jumped from the ambulance almost as soon as it stopped. The first came directly to where Jackson lay.

"Give us a bit of room, lads," he said, his eyes quickly scanning his patient. "Either of you know his name?"

"Jackson. Jackson Walsh," said Aaron quickly. He was standing now and had moved a little away from Jackson, but his eyes flicked between the face of his lover and the paramedic bending over him, speaking to him.

The second paramedic deposited a huge rucksack beside Jackson, a smaller one by his head, quickly pulling an oxygen mask from it. He carefully fixed it over Jackson's face, reaching into the smaller rucksack to turn it on.

"He's unconscious but I'm not seeing any open head injury," said the first paramedic to his companion. "That leg and arm look a bit suspect; I'll get the splints if you get a line started."

Working quickly, they soon had an IV line running into his arm, his neck immobilised and inflatable splints on one arm and leg.

"I'm coming with you," said Aaron, stepping forward as they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance. "Please."

The first paramedic glanced up at him. "Hop in then," he ducked his head towards the interior of the ambulance.

"Hope he gets on ok," called the man who had been beside Jackson on the road. He had stepped forward as the paramedics had moved back into the ambulance, only calling out now as the door was about to close.

"Thanks," called back Aaron. He was perched on the edge of a fold down seat, his gaze flicking between the paramedic beside Jackson and the vanishing world outside the ambulance.

"Wait!" Surprising them all, he jumped up, his hands pressed against the door, keeping it open. "My friends are in a club, just round the corner; god! I don't even know its name!"

"Don't worry mate, I can guess. Give me a name."

"Finn Nicholson; he's tall, lots of blond curly hair."

"We need to go," interrupted the paramedic.

"Go, go! I'll find him!"

Slamming shut, the door closed on them; seconds later the ambulance moved off. Watching Jackson, watching the paramedic checking him, Aaron bit his lip; another hospital, more doctors, more nurses, more strangers. How many more times would they see the inside of an A and E department?

…..

"I can't see either of them," Robbie said. It had taken some time for them to realise that both Aaron and Jackson were missing. At first, they had each thought they were with the other couple; on discovering that they were mistaken Robbie and Greg had toured both floors of the club.

"They must've gone outside," said Simon, "they could've said, save us wasting time looking for them."

"Let's hope they're sorting things out," said Finn. "C'mon, must be my round." He turned, intending to go to the bar but was stopped short by a man with 'Security' emblazoned across the chest of his tee shirt making a beeline for him. Behind, another man, peering beyond the security man, stared intently at Finn.

"Finn Nicholson?"

"Are you Finn Nicholson?"

Their voices chimed against each other, audible even over the music.

"Are you Finn Nicholson?" repeated the man behind. "Know a lad named Jackson…Jackson …oh I can't remember! And another lad, wearing a dark sleeveless tee shirt?"

"Jackson and Aaron?" answered Finn, bemused. "Yes, why, they're here somewhere…"

The man shook his head, leaning forward, "There's been an accident," he said.

The bouncer tapped Finn's arm, getting his attention and indicated that they should follow him. Away from the dance floor and bar area, the noise level dropped, letting them all speak more easily.

"There's been an accident," he repeated. "They're on their way to hospital, the Royal I should think, it's the nearest."

"What happened?" asked Simon. This was crazy, he thought, they had been there, dancing, only a short while ago. "How did you know Finn?"

"The other lad; he told me his name, that he was tall and had blond curly hair," he nodded towards Finn, affirming the description.

"So what happened?" repeated Simon, his voice sharp now in his anxiety for his friends.

"The first lad, Jackson, he came running down the road, he crossed it, not looking where he was going like; the car didn't have a chance to miss him."

"How badly hurt is he?" asked Finn. He was hardly able to believe what he was hearing; it all seemed to have happened so quickly.

"The car caught him on one side; the paramedics seemed to think his arm and leg might be broken, they put splint things on. He was unconscious though but there wasn't any bleeding, well not beyond grazes that I could see."

"You said it would be the Royal they took him to," questioned Greg. "Is it far?"

"Ten minutes through the town," estimated the bouncer. "You got a car? I'll whistle a taxi up for you then," he said as they replied negatively. "You are going to the hospital?" he added.

"Oh yes, of course," said Finn quickly, gathering his thoughts, thoughts that had been thrown into disarray with the sudden, shocking news. "And thank you, both of you, for coming to find us." He held out his hand to the man who had come to find them.

"It was nothing," the man said, obviously awkward now as he shook hands with each of them in turn, "it was the least I could do...anyone would." He turned, took a few steps away from them before turning back. "Hope your friend is okay." He nodded slightly, emphasising his words.

The bouncer had disappeared from sight but it was only a matter of moments before he returned to find them, still standing where he had left them, at the end of the corridor. None of them had spoken in his absence; they were all still trying to believe that their evening was ending in such a dreadful way.

"There's a taxi out the front for you lads," he said as he returned. "It'll get you up to the hospital in no time."

"Thanks," said Greg, collecting himself as they all moved past and made their way towards the main entrance to the club. It seem only minutes before they had arrived, not the several hours that they had spent there, but despite the illuminations of the town, the lights, the lamps, the beams of passing cars, they could see the night sky was beginning to lighten, just a little, towards the east.

"How the fuck did this happen," breathed Greg as they settled into the taxi. It was a question all of them were thinking but which none of them had the answer to, at least until they spoke to Jackson. Or Aaron.

They watched the still busy streets flash past; as the bouncer said, the journey took only a few minutes and very quickly the driver was drawing to a halt outside the A and E entrance to the hospital.


	28. Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

Aaron was pacing the floor in one corner of the reception area when they pushed through the swing doors. A sea of faces turned towards them as they entered, a ritual re-enacted with each new arrival, a breath of activity in the tedium of waiting.

"We had an argument," he began quickly, without even waiting for their questions as his friends crowded round him. "It was silly; all this guilt and blame stuff. Then he ran off." Aaron fidgeted as he spoke, running his hands over his chin, through his short, spiky hair; shaking his head a little as though he couldn't believe the words, the explanation, he had to give.

"The doctors, what have they said?" asked Robbie.

"Nothing," answered Aaron. "I mean, I haven't seen them yet. The paramedics thought his arm and leg are broken. And he's unconscious."

Finn caught his breath as Aaron spoke, although he tried not to let his dismay show on his face as the younger man reeled off the list of possible injuries sustained by Jackson.

"Has anyone spoken to you yet?" asked Greg

Aaron shook his head. "Only the nurse to tell me to give his details in at reception and I've done that."

"C'mon, let's sit down," said Finn, nodding to spaces on the row of hard plastic chairs. "Anyone want coffee?"

"I'll get them," said Simon, beginning to move towards the coffee machine in the opposite corner of the large waiting area.

"Not for me," Aaron said quickly, "I feel sick."

Simon nodded. "Everyone else though?" He glanced round, seeing agreement from the rest of his friends.

Finn put one hand to Aaron's bare arm, pushing him gently towards a seat, keen that he should sit before he fell down. He could see the stress, the pain in the troubled blue eyes.

"He's in the best place," he said, trying the make the well used cliché sound reassuring.

The chairs were arranged in rows across the middle of the room; many of these were filled with people obviously waiting to be seen, some sporting bandages, some even dark with dried blood. There were relatives waiting, like themselves, anxiety written clear across their faces, people talking in muted, muttering tones, their voices hushed with a kind of reverence for the mysteries of healing taking place so close beside them.

More chairs lined the edge of the room; it was on one of these that Aaron had been perched when they walked in and back to these that Finn directed them. How come every hospital waiting room looked the same, he wondered? Same tired plastic furniture, same slightly hopeless air about the place, the same all pervading smell creeping in, sick, shit and bleach, the smell of ill and injured humanity and the sweating anxiety of those waiting for them to live or die. He shook his head; he couldn't think like that, Jackson was going to be fine; any broken bones were going to mend. Everything was going to mend.

Simon returned with four polystyrene cups of coffee and a small bottle of water for Aaron; he pulled a chair slightly out of line, needing to disrupt the rigidity of the arrangement, needing to be able to see all his friends. None of them spoke much, all lost in their own thoughts, only surfacing with each swish of the door opening.

The clock on the wall denoted the passing minutes; outside they could see it was quite light now with the early summer dawn although not really morning. They dozed, half dozed, tiredness and lager catching up with them.

At last one of the figures wearing the distinctive blue scrubs made their way towards them. "I'm Dr Morgan," she introduced herself. "You're with Jackson Walsh?"

"Yes. How is he?" asked Aaron quickly.

"A bit battered and bruised, but he'll be fine. We're keeping him in meantime; he's got a broken arm and leg, they're both in plaster and I don't think he will need an operation on either of them. He's also had a scan and has no significant head injury."

"Is he conscious?" interrupted Robbie.

"Yes, he came round a little while ago, smiled the doctor. "Now I can let two of you in, just for a few minutes, before we move him to a ward."

"You and Simon go," Finn said.

"I'm not sure..." began Aaron hesitantly.

"Of course he'll want to see you," smiled Greg. "Go on, tell him hello from the rest of us."

Still feeling unsure of the reception he would receive, Aaron followed Simon and the doctor through the swing doors into the A and E department, passing a number of curtained cubicles until she stopped and held the curtain aside for them.

"Five minutes," she said, letting the material fall closed behind them.

His eyes were closed; in the bright light they could see the side of his face, raw and grazed. His plastered leg was balanced on two pillows, the covers turned back onto his good leg, his arm was held upright by a sling attached to a bed pole. A matching bed pole on the other side of the bed held a bag of fluid; the IV line going into his hand.

Quietly approaching the bed, Aaron let his fingers run gently over the back of Jackson's hand, carefully avoiding the drip puncturing his skin.

"That better be you Aaron Livesy."

Slowly, as though it took almost more strength than he had, Jackson opened his eyes; his mouth curled at the corners in a watery smile as his fingers curled against Aaron's catching them tightly.

"Careful!" said Aaron sharply. "Mind the drip!"

"The drip's fine," Jackson's voice was tired, drowsy; his eyes kept flickering as though it was hard to concentrate, to keep them open. "I feel...fucking awful."

"You were hit by a car," said Simon, moving to stand at the other side of the bed. "You've got a broken arm and leg and a few grazes, but you're going to be fine."

"I don't really remember," muttered Jackson.

"It doesn't matter," said Aaron quickly. "Nothing matters except that you rest and get well quickly."

Behind them, the curtain rustled open. "Time's up, I'm afraid," said the doctor. "We need to move him up to the ward."

"Night mate," Simon quickly touched Jackson's shoulder as he spoke. "See you tomorrow."

"Night," breathed Jackson quietly.

Saying nothing, Aaron leaned forward, intending to place a kiss on Jackson's forehead only at the last second Jackson moved, tilting his head back enough that Aaron's kiss met his lips.

"Night," he smiled.

"Night," replied Aaron; his lips curving in a wry smile; for a second or two longer, he held Jackson's sleepy, dark eyes, watching him struggle unsuccessfully to keep them open.

...

It was another hour before they were back at the camp site; already there was movement at the tents and caravans of the earliest risers.

"Anyone want coffee?" asked Greg as the taxi pulled away.

"I think we're just gonna crash," said Robbie, glancing at Simon for confirmation, "see you later."

Wearily the two men headed for their own van, watching them go; Aaron glanced at the blue van he and Jackson shared.

"D'you want to come in with us?" asked Greg, seeing his hesitation.

"D'you mind?" Aaron replied with his own question.

"Course not,"

"Don't be daft."

Greg and Finn answered at almost the same. Finn unlocked the door, standing back to let the other two enter first. He lifted the kettle; there was enough water in it and he turned on the small gas stove.

The bed had been left ready, the quilt neatly spread and the pillows plumped; it looked very inviting; Aaron perched on the edge of it, feeling awkward.

"Just get in," said Finn, lifting three mugs down from the cupboard. The kid looked shattered, he thought; so pale despite his suntan, purple hollows of tiredness under his eyes. "Just take off your jeans and get under the covers while I make the coffee."

Following his instructions, Aaron stood, kicked off his trainers, undid his jeans and stepped out of them. Holding them in his hands, he wasn't sure quite what to do with them. Coming to his rescue, Greg took them from his fingers and laid them aside. Saying nothing, he lifted the cover up and nodded.

Aaron slid onto the bed, snuggling down under the covers; despite it not being at all chilly, he felt cold with tiredness; stretching, he relished the warmth of the quilt.

Copying him, Greg slid off his trousers and joined Aaron under the covers, only sitting up, cross-legged, waiting for the coffee. He glanced down at Aaron, he had his eyes closed but there were frown lines creasing his forehead. He reached out and, barely touching him, ran his fingers over them.

"If the wind changes, you'll be stuck with them," he murmured, a smile in his voice.

Aaron opened puzzled eyes and looked at Greg.

"These frown lines," said Greg quietly, rubbing his thumb lightly across them. "My gran used to say if you were frowning and the wind changed, you'd always have the frown lines. She meant it was better to smile. He's gonna be alright you know." He gave a soft chuckle, hardly more than a breath escaping as his fingers trailed lightly backwards through Aaron's spiky hair.

It was a relaxing feeling thought Aaron, Greg's fingers gently touching him; almost unaware of what he was doing he turned towards Greg.

Uncrossing his legs, Greg slid a little lower in the bed, his arm moving around Aaron, hugging him closer in to his body.

"Here's your coffee, guys," said Finn a minute or two later, moving away from the small kitchen, carrying two steaming mugs. He stopped abruptly when he saw them, backtracking to replace the mugs on the small counter top.

They were sleeping; Greg, still half propped up in the bed, lay on his back. Aaron was curled hard against him, although his arms were tight across his abdomen, hugging himself. It didn't look comfortable yet their faces were peaceful.

Abandoning his coffee, Finn slipped off his own jeans and squeezed into the small sliver of bed that was left to him, easing himself onto his side; he pressed his body close to Greg's letting his arm enfold Greg into his embrace, his finger tips sliding over Aaron's bare arm, including him. Gently groaning but not wakening, Greg moved as though he was aware of Finn's arrival beside him, merging their bodies.

It was full daylight, muted only a little by the thin blinds of the van. Outside more people were stirring, starting their day, but the three vans were quiet, one silent and empty, the other two deeply slumbering.

...

The door was closed, firmly shut and he had been told to wait. He paced the floor, from one end of the corridor to the other, anxiety gnawing at his guts, the waiting increasing that anxiety tenfold. Since he had woken in the morning, well it had been lunchtime really; it had already been morning when he fell asleep in Greg and Finn's bed, since he had woken he had been dreading this moment, yet desperate for it too. Desperate to see Jackson again, to know that he really was alright, to tell him how sorry he was...for everything. The irony of it didn't escape him; how suddenly their positions had been reversed, now he was the one racked with guilt, if they hadn't argued, if he hadn't lost patience with Jackson, had been more understanding. Well he understood now, that was for sure.

The door clicked open, the nurse left, pushing it invitingly open for him. Suddenly his feet were rooted to the floor, unable to move. His mouth felt dry, all the words he had rehearsed driving over had fled from his mind. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest; surely it would burst out of his body any minute.

He closed his eyes for a split second, tried to steady his breathing. Both Finn and Simon had offered to come with him but he had wanted, needed, to go alone. And now he was bricking it.

With a breath deep enough that it felt as though it might be the last he would ever need to take, he covered the few steps that would take him to the door, round it and into the room.

His eyes were closed, but Aaron didn't think he was asleep, but it was enough to let him collect himself for a second before he moved closer to the bed, sat on the chair next to it.

Jackson's lips twitched into a slight smile. "Hey Aaron," he murmured.

"How d'you know it's me?" smiled Aaron quietly.

"I always know it's you," replied Jackson. I don't need to see you, I can sense you, smell you."

"I don't reek of engine oil now," said Aaron.

"Or any other kind of oil." Jackson opened his eyes and smiled at Aaron. "But I still knew it was you."

"How d'you feel?"

"Shite. I ache all over and I've got some amazing bruises." He lifted his unbroken arm across his body and pulled at the hospital gown he was wearing, lifting it so that Aaron could see the vivid purple discolouration across his flank, hip and thigh.

"Ouch!" whistled Aaron. "But apart from that..." he let the words trail off, of course Jackson wasn't fine, wasn't alright; how could he be?

"Is Finn with you?" asked Jackson glancing towards the door.

"No, why?" Aaron replied, a little bemused at the change of direction the conversation was taking.

"I kinda think I might like to talk to him. Sometime. About all the stuff that was going on in my head."

Aaron looked away from him, awkwardness seeping through his body.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice quiet, subdued. "I didn't understand...I shouldn't have given you such a hard time."

"It doesn't matter, it's over." He stretched his good arm across his body again, waggling his fingers at Aaron.

Aaron leant forward and caught Jackson's hand in between his own two; he ran his fingers up and down each of Jackson's, feeling the calloused, work roughened skin on them.

"You're gonna be out of action for a while," he said.

"You up for looking after me then?" retorted Jackson, a question in his tone.

"Of course," replied Aaron. "Unless you want your mum to..."

"God no!" interrupted Jackson. "Are you daft?"

A wry half smile touched Aaron's lips. "No, I just wasn't sure after...you know."

"You are daft," said Jackson comfortably.

"Have they said when you can get out?" asked Aaron.

"Two or three days and I'll have to use a wheelchair to get about in; with my arm, I can only use crutches if I need to for transferring," said Jackson. "Talking of which, can you help me to the loo?" He nodded to a wheelchair parked against the wall of the small room.

"Should you?" asked Aaron. "I mean, can't you use a bottle or something?"

"It's not a pee I need," growled Jackson, pushing the covers back. "And can you bring me in some PJs?"

For a second their eyes met and held; it was bizarre, silently they acknowledged it between themselves, it had only been days since their positions had been reversed, when it had been Aaron in hospital, needing clothes.

"Yeah, I'll come back with stuff later," agreed Aaron. "Are you sure you should be doing this, getting out of bed?"

"Yes, I've been out of bed a couple of times with a nurse, but I don't want their help with this."

"Eugh!" grimaced Aaron, pulling a face.

"It's okay, I can wipe my own arse," grumbled Jackson, sinking awkwardly into the wheelchair. "I just hate them having to be so close to me, all over me."

"Aww, maybe they fancy you," teased Aaron, pushing him the short distance to the bathroom.

"I told them I was gay," snarled Jackson, sore as he struggled to manoeuvre onto the toilet.

"Did you?" Aaron couldn't keep the surprise from his voice; even after a number of years, most of the time he was still no-where near as comfortable in his own skin as Jackson was, at least where strangers were concerned.

"Well, I said I was on holiday with my boyfriend and our mates. Ouch! Shite!"

"You okay?" questioned Aaron quickly.

"Yeah, just moved awkwardly," said Jackson, holding his breath as he settled himself. "Give me a minute will you." He released his breath in a noisy half gasp, still sore.

Aaron looked around the bare small ward while he waited. The view from the window was its most attractive feature, the long windows, five floors up, breaking the monotony of the pale magnolia walls. He lent against the frame looking down to the ground below; the doll's houses, with the tiny people and their toy cars buzzing like insects in their own little world.

They were alright weren't they? Well more or less? It had been a bit awkward...he glanced towards the bathroom door, half closed over...but it was bound to be. He chewed thoughtfully at his lip.

"Aaron?"

Jackson's call interrupted his thoughts and he spun quickly towards the bathroom door, jumping to help Jackson back into the wheelchair before turning him towards the sink while he washed his hands, then back out to his bed.

"Could you find a nurse and ask if I'm due pain killers," asked Jackson, stretching awkwardly, easing his aching body fractionally.

"Sure," said Aaron, going back to the door. He glanced back at Jackson, saw the pallor and the glaze of glistening sweat that had swept across his face with the effort of moving.

Suddenly anxious, he went quickly towards the nurse's station. It seemed to take forever, to find a nurse, ask about the painkillers. Reassuring him, the nurse said she would come to see Jackson in just a minute or two. He wanted her to come straight away; wanted to drag her away from whatever she was doing and make her see to Jackson, ease his pain. Silently he nodded, curbing his impatience and marched back to Jackson's room.

He hadn't moved, but his colour was better Aaron noticed critically as he resumed his seat by his bed, pulling the chair as close as he could comfortably get it.

"She'll be here in just a minute," he whispered.

"Thanks," replied Jackson. "Sorry."

"Behave," replied Aaron awkwardly.

They lapsed into silence; Jackson lay with his eyes closed, careful not to move, even breathing carefully, protecting his bruised ribs.

"I still want to talk to Finn," murmured Jackson breaking the silence that had grown up between them.

"He'll be in later," said Aaron reassuringly. "They didn't all want to pile in at once, tire you out."

"I'm knackered anyway," said Jackson, "it wouldn't have mattered."

"Sorry. I should let you sleep," said Aaron, beginning to stand.

"No! You're alright," Jackson spoke quickly, opening his eyes.

"No you're not, young man, because I'm going to chase you." A nurse, an older woman Aaron had noticed as he had searched for someone to ask about painkillers, bustled cheerfully into the room. "I've got an injection here for Jackson, he's going to be very sleepy afterwards, so you should go and let him rest, come back later." She looked pointedly at Aaron and waited.

"I'll see you later then," said Aaron, standing. He let his hand rest on Jackson's shoulder, hoping his touch would convey all the words he couldn't say.

"Oh you boys!" chuckled the nurse in exaggerated exasperation. "Perhaps I should go and get a pen. It will take me exactly thirty seconds." Turning on her heels, she left the room.

Aaron smiled at her retreating back gratefully; he clearly saw the pens tucked in the top pocket of her uniform as she turned away from them. Quickly he bent and touched Jackson's lips with his own, kissing him briefly.

"Better go," he whispered, "before the dragon comes back."

"This dragon has ears and breaths fire," smiled the nurse, returning to the room. "Time for you to go now lad, I'll look after him. The medication goes directly into the IV so it works very quickly. You come back for visiting this evening, six o'clock, and I guarantee he'll be feeling much better."

She smiled as Aaron took one last, lingering look at Jackson.

Reluctantly he left the room.


	29. Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

The coffee was disgusting and he only sipped at it reluctantly, fidgeting on the hard chair and frequently looking at his watch. He had known that Finn needed some time alone with Jackson before the rest of them trooped in, but it was hard, waiting. Wondering how the conversation was going, what was being said, wondering if they could stop ripping themselves apart with guilt?

Robbie and Simon appeared to have no problem drinking their coffee, maybe he had just got a rogue bad cup? Maybe the bitterness was in him. Maybe he should stop being the worst kind of drama queen! He stood and paced to the tall-shelved trolley holding trays of dirty crockery and cutlery from the coffee shop, unceremoniously dumping his cup among the accumulated debris.

"How long d'you thing we should give them before we go up?" he asked impatience rapidly over coming him.

"Give them a few more minutes," said Greg placidly, sipping his can of coke. "Give them five and we can start climbing the stairs," he shrugged apologetically.

Aaron flung himself back into the chair; how could Greg be so patient and laid back? Okay, so wasn't his boyfriend lying in the hospital bed, but even so, he always seemed so calm. He looked at his watch again.

The ten flights of stairs taking them up the five floors seemed endless; at first Aaron was anxious to take them at a run but he kept time with the more moderate pace set by Greg and Robbie; as the fifth floor grew closer he felt his anticipation increasing with each passing step.

Minutes later they were on the fifth floor approaching Jackson's room. Unexpectedly butterflies flooded through Aaron's body, he was trembling, his stomach knotted in anxiety, even his skin suddenly seemed to tingle with apprehension. His feet slowed, stopped, as the door to Jackson's room came into view. He wasn't close enough yet to see in the window, to hear voices from inside, to gauge the atmosphere, but if everything wasn't okay, he wasn't sure that he wanted to know just yet.

"It'll be fine," said Greg, coming close behind him, speaking quietly making it unlikely that Robbie and Simon, a step or two behind them, would hear. Standing close beside Aaron as they stopped, he caught the younger man's wrist in his hand and squeezed reassuringly.

Glad to feel his touch, know his support, Aaron turned his wrist a little, twisted and let his fingers briefly entwine with Greg's, a silent gesture of thanks.

Almost imperceptibly the group of friends bore him forward.

...

He had thought Jackson was sleeping when he first entered the room; it gave him a moment to survey the scene before him. The cold, clinical room, devoid of decoration; the minimum of furniture, the locker lacking the scatter of personal effects; the hospital bed with the sleeping figure almost overshadowed by the cage keeping the weight of the cover of his fractured leg, the matching drip stands either side of the bed, one was empty, purely decorative, the other kept his arm upright, supported by pillows.

"Thanks for coming,"

Finn jumped at the sound of the voice; sounding tired but more at peace than he had heard it for a while, although it was only hearing the difference now that he appreciated how strained it had become.

"I thought you were sleeping," he said, moving towards the head of the bed. "Is it a silly question to ask how you are feeling?"

"I'm fine," smiled Jackson, "but that might be the morphine; I got my last shot about an hour ago, before they took the drip down," he waved his un-plastered arm at Finn; the drip had been disconnected but the cannula was still in place, stoppered and protected by a light bandage, "and my head still feels like its stuffed with cotton wool," he finished.

"Aaron gave me these to bring up ," said Finn, pulling one of the hard chairs towards the head of the bed and lifting a plastic bag for Jackson to see, indicating the clothes he had brought in with him. "Make shift PJs and stuff; said you asked for them."

"Thanks," said Jackson. Can you help me change? I think I'll feel better loosing this." He pulled at the faded cotton hospital gown.

"I'm not sure..." Finn prevaricated, eyeing the complex arrangement keeping Jackson's arm in position.

"Oh! It's ok," said Jackson, following the direction of his gaze. "I can just slip my arm out; it's fine, I've been up to the loo several times. What did you bring?"

"Aaron said you'd be ok with a tee shirt and boxers and there's stuff for when they let you out of here."

"Tee shirt and boxers are fine" said Jackson, beginning to thread his arm out of the sling that was supporting it. He leant forward for Finn to undo the knotted cord of the gown at his neck.

Finn jumped forward to help, unsure but following Jackson's lead, he undid the ties and held the gown, helping Jackson to free his good arm then peel it over the plaster of his broken arm. He searched through the selection of tee shirts Aaron had tumbled into the bag.

"That one!" said Jackson, catching a glimpse of a vest top that would be easy and plenty warm enough given the heat of the hospital and the generally warm weather. "Pull it over my plastered arm first," he instructed.

"You really want boxers on?" asked Finn. The sheet had still been in place, covering Jackson, as they had battled with the gown and vest top replacement.

"Yeah, why? Oh for fuck sake, Finn! You've seen me naked before" exclaimed Jackson.

"Yeah, but this feels kinds different somehow," said Finn, his face colouring slightly.

"Oh stop being such a wuss and help me get them on," scoffed Jackson, "Come on, it will only take a minute or two."

"If you're sure you're ok with it," began Finn, stopping as Jackson nodded and pushed the sheet back with his unplastered hand, not quite exposing his cock, only the curling chestnut hair at his groin.

Without the gown, he was naked below the new vest top, the sheet only barely protecting his modesty. Pushing it further down, Finn quickly began to feed one leg of the boxers over the full length plaster that immobilised Jackson's fractured leg then Jackson bent his good leg, pushing it through the matching leg of the pair of boxers, then with that leg bent, he eased his hips high enough off the bed for Finn to lean over him and pull them into position. It had taken moments, seconds and it was over; Finn could breathe again, despite the deep flush still colouring his cheeks.

"Thanks," said Jackson, sinking back onto the bed. For a moment he kept his eyes shut; he had been rehearsing the words he had wanted to say since Aaron left earlier in the afternoon, well, when he hadn't been too sore or too knocked out by the painkillers to think. He had had it all planned out, lucid and coherent, but now it was all gone; every word, every coherent thought.

"You're very welcome," Finn smiled, the tinge of pink gradually fading from his face. He said nothing more but sat on one of the hard hospital chairs beside the bed, content now to wait.

"I've been an idiot," said Jackson quietly into the silence. "I got so wrapped up in my own feelings, let them grow arms and legs...it was like the thoughts in my head were out of control. But I can't help it! I just felt so fucking guilty!" He paused, trying to catch the tears that pricked behind his eyes before they fell and revealed the depth of his pain to Finn.

"You can tell me it wasn't my fault..."

Finn knew what he meant, what he was referring to, the time, the one significant moment when he wasn't with Aaron when it mattered. Yet how could he have known, how could anyone; Aaron, the gang, the group of friends, know how the fickle hands of fate would fall; Chance ruled, was in control, an unconnected series of chances that collected the key players in the drama, that decreed their actions, that dealt them consequences. Finn knew exactly what Jackson meant, but he said nothing yet, letting him speak.

"But if only I'd been with him," Jackson continued, his voice beginning to catch as he allowed free reign to his distress. "I might have been able to do something...stop him...help him...something! That sounds so silly when I say it out loud because I can't be with him all the time, yet I keep asking myself why I wasn't with him this once! I can't stop feeling that it is all my fault, however ridiculous that is."

"I can't tell you that it's not your fault," said Finn. "Oh, I can say the words as many times as you like, but they will mean nothing until you believe them. And the only person that can make you believe them, can let you believe them, is yourself. I can't do it for you – nor can Aaron." Finn paused and looked at the troubled young man lying in the bed beside him.

"Jackson," he began slowly, thinking what to say. "The others will be here soon, but I want you to think about something for me." Finn paused and bit his lip; he tried to remember his conversation with Professor Crombie, tried to remember the gentle guidance and eloquent phrases the professor had used, that he could use, but his mind felt blank, daunted by the enormity of Jackson's distress. He closed his eyes briefly and silently asked for help.

...

The sound of gentle laughter greeted them as they moved closer towards the open door that led into Jackson's room.

Greg went in first, his eyes meeting with Finn's in silent communication, a conversation flashing between them.

Aaron followed; his stomach was churning, it had been awkward between them earlier in the day and so difficult for a number of days. The sound of laughter, the gently amused chuckling, had taken him by surprise as he slid into the room after Greg, quickly followed by Robbie and Simon.

"Cluedo," said Finn, as though that explained everything. "It was just a train of thought, a name Jackson misheard...it's not important. Really." He looked at Jackson and smiled; he hadn't been sure about mentioning the professor's name, admitting that he had spoken to him, however obliquely. But Jackson had understood his reasoning, accepted it.

Aaron looked at Jackson, a puzzled expression caught in his eyes.

"Finn mentioned someone...a friend of his," said Jackson, "for some reason I thought he was talking about a Cluedo character. I was a bit confused; my head is still a bit fuzzy, the morphine I think. Anyway, it just seemed the funniest thing ever." He shrugged his shoulders a little, apologetically.

Finn wondered if he would say any more to Aaron, although perhaps now wasn't the right time, the easiest time. He glanced between Jackson and Aaron, wondering if he should say anything; he felt a moment of uncertainty.

"How're you feeling?" asked Aaron quietly. Unnoticed, Robbie, Simon and Greg moved subtly, allowing him to move closer to the bed.

"Better than I did," Jackson smiled tentatively as he spoke. "The dragon was right."

Aaron smiled in return. "I'm glad," he said. He looked into Jackson's large eyes, the pools of chocolate darker than ever, his pupils dilated by the medication he had been given.

"Jackson, I feel..." began Aaron.

"Don't!" interrupted Jackson, cutting off his words. "Don't beat yourself up over it." He paused, closing his eyes briefly. "It was...circumstance...chance...fate...our own stupidity even. But can we talk about it later; not now, not here. For now, can we just be glad that we are both alive and more or less in one piece?"

Aaron felt the tension that had been caught in his body, gripping his muscles, perhaps for days, perhaps since he had been freed from that cave-like prison beginning to ease. Not fully, just the slightest relaxation of the taut, contracted fear that had possessed him for so long. It wasn't the end of it, he knew that; but it was a beginning.

His eyes never leaving Jackson's, he nodded. "I'd like that," he said.

The rest of the short time allowed for visiting passed easily; there was no chance of stretching the minutes, eagle-eyed nurses patrolled the ward, popping their heads into each of the rooms, encouraging the lingering visitors to depart.

Finn and Greg, Robbie and Simon left a just before the end of visiting, giving Aaron and Jackson a few minutes alone. Glad that, for now at least, he was in a single room, Jackson lightly held Aaron's hand, letting his fingers slowly run over Aaron's, feeling his skin still work roughened in places, although the oil that usually remained ingrained despite the gloves he sometimes wore had gone.

"We draw a line under this," he murmured. "Now. The guilt, the blame...the anger..." as he spoke, Jackson remembered the word Finn had used earlier; he had asked him if he was angry. "Anything else, we'll sort out later. Deal?"

"Deal," said Aaron immediately.

It was easier to leave minutes later, than it had been to walk into the ward. They had kissed, almost shyly; lips brushing hesitantly against each other, hoping everything that had gone before was made new.

He had paused at the door, looking back at Jackson; but already his eyes were closed, tiredness, emotion, medication overwhelming him.

His own heart a fraction lighter, Aaron left the ward, making his way quickly down to the hospital car park and his friends; he only had to wait now, soon Jackson would be back with him.


	30. Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

It was three days before the doctors would release Jackson from the hospital and only then on the condition that he travelled straight back to Yorkshire and didn't continue holidaying in the camper vans. He argued; it would be tricky at home with both an arm and leg in plaster and couldn't possibly be any trickier in the van. But the doctors were adamant; he was to go home or they would arrange an inter-hospital transfer.

Jackson capitulated; there was no way he wanted to spend any longer in hospital than he needed. He had too much time on his hands there; time to think, brood, with little to distract him. After that first night he had been moved to a six-bedded ward but his companions had been elderly, older anyway, with ailments that involved bags and smells and drips and tubes where he had never seen tubes in people before. Oh they were cheerful enough, he supposed; but it was like they spoke a different language to him.

The morning of his discharge dawned, he was awake early, to excited to sleep although he knew it would be several hours until Aaron could collect him. Washing was the embarrassing experience it had been for the last few days, but at least the nurse was helping him into proper clothes and not the combination of tee shirts and boxers that had done service as pyjamas for the last few days.

He was ready far too early and lay on his bed trying to read the newspaper one of the old boys on the ward had bought from the trolley for him. But the news was gloomy, morbid and he wanted cheerful and uplifting. He tried listening to the radio but the music didn't take over his mind; his thoughts were still able to torment him, still puzzle him, perplex him. How could understanding, acceptance, be so hard; how could guilt be so overwhelming that despite the line they had drawn, insidious thoughts crept easily into his mind.

Waiting was exhausting; he was sleeping, the newspaper draped over his chest as it had fallen when Greg and Aaron walked into the ward a little after ten o'clock.

"Maybe he doesn't want to go home?" mused Greg, standing on one side of the bed.

"That must be it," agreed Aaron.

"We could just leave him," said Greg. "Come back in six weeks."

"Or even two months," added Aaron, "just to make sure."

"Don't even go there!" Jackson spoke sleepily from the bed. "Not even as a joke. Just get me out of here now." He opened his eyes, stretching his body, trying to move his arm and leg awkward with casts. "Where are the others?"

"Finn is waiting at the pickup point for us," explained Greg, "you're travelling up in our van as we're staying in Emmerdale tonight. Simon is driving your van at the moment and he and Robbie have gone to a supermarket about half a mile away; they're getting food for the journey; save the expense of the motorway service stations. Do you need to collect anything before we go?"

"Just my meds and a GPs letter," said Jackson. "And I'll need a wheelchair to get down to the van."

"Well I didn't think you were gonna fly," grumbled Aaron. "I'll go and find a nurse, get your stuff then get a wheelchair." He turned from the bed and quickly left he ward; he could feel eyes on his back, the other patients watched him go. He nodded to a couple of them, the chattier ones he had seen each visiting over the last few days, with whom he had exchanged the odd word, greeting.

Greg watched him leave then turned his attention back to Jackson, who had, by now, eased himself higher in the bed.

"So how are you?" he asked.

"I'm fine," replied Jackson perhaps a fraction too quickly.

Greg said nothing, only gazed intently at his friend.

"I'll be glad to get out," added Jackson as he saw Greg was waiting for him to speak.

Still Greg said nothing; he knew Jackson well by now, knew there was more to come.

"Okay!" breathed Jackson, "I'm scared witless about going back. We put off talking about …stuff… but we're gonna have to, sooner or later. Probably sooner."

"It'll be fine," reassured Greg, "you'll get through it. It's not like you're not both crazy about each other."

Jackson blushed.

"And we'll be here for you…all of us, if there's anything we can do, you just have to ask, you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do, 'course I do," said Jackson. "It's just…difficult."

Before Greg could reply, Aaron came back into the ward, pushing a wheelchair.

"Your chariot!" he joked, lifting the white packet and brown envelope that had been balanced on the seat. "Pills and GPs letter and you've to stop at the nurse's station before you leave," he continued. "Apart from that, you're free to go." He smiled at Jackson, hiding any apprehension he felt behind his eyes, behind the mask he felt his face had become.

"What are we waiting for then?" demanded Jackson, beginning to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. "Give us a hand here."

With only the briefest of goodbyes to his ward-mates and no backward glances, Jackson left the ward. Aaron pushed the chair leaving Greg to carry the few bits and pieces Jackson had acquired in his short stay.

In the camper van, Greg had left the bed made up and had taken pillows and quilts from both of the other vans to prop him up, make him comfortable for the journey. Even so, it took a few minutes and a fair bit of manoeuvring before Jackson declared that he was comfortable enough to begin the long journey back to Emmerdale.

They travelled in closer proximity on this return journey, the vans never too far from one another on the motorway; Aaron drove Jackson's van, sometimes having one of the other guys for company as they swapped between vans ensuring no one had to drive too far without a companion, while always keeping two of them with Jackson, just in case.

They made good time on the road, but even so the journey seemed interminable, but eventually the road signs became more familiar, the nearest city, the nearest motorway exit, the last few miles counting down to Hotton where they stopped briefly to say goodbye to Robbie and Simon.

Finally the road signs were for Emmerdale, a handful of miles quickly covered. As the two vans pulled up outside Smithy Cottage the front door opened; Paddy must have been looking out for them. He made for the window of the camper van.

"There's some old woman here for you, Finn," he said. "Well not here," he continued, bumbling now, as he struggled to explain. "She's staying at the B&B, said her brother sent her, said you would know what she's here for? Who is she Finn?"

Under his tan, Finn paled; he glanced across at Greg. "It's Dora McCorkindale. Oh God! It has to be….it's Dora!"


	31. Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

"Who is she, Finn?" Aaron echoed Paddy's question. They were in Smithy now, gathered in the kitchen. Jackson was lying on the sofa in the sitting room, the journey, the effort of moving from the camper van to the cottage, even with the wheelchair Hazel produced, even with the sparing use of the crutches on loan from the hospital, had exhausted him and already he was dozing,

"We should go and see her," said Finn, his voice sounding worried.

"We should," agreed Greg, "before she finds out we're back and haven't been straight round to see her."

"Fi-inn?" said Aaron more urgently.

"She's the older sister of one of my old tutors," explained Finn at last. "She's an ex nun and an expert in moral philosophy and theology. She's…"

"Formidable!" put in Greg helpfully.

Finn nodded. "She's unique that's for sure," he added.

"And what's she here for? I don't understand?" asked Hazel, her voice had an edge of whininess to it.

"I…er…I spoke to her brother recently," said Finn, "we're Facebook friends." He said, as though that explained everything, hoping that made it sound as if there was nothing unusual about this random visit. "We'd better go…straight away." He looked towards Greg, even as he moved towards the back door.

"See you later," called Greg, hurrying to follow Finn.

Before anyone could gather their wits to ask any more questions, to stop them, they were out of the door and walking slowly now, the short distance to the B&B.

"I never expected…" began Finn.

"No, but you know what they are like, both of them," said Greg. "The Professor couldn't come when you needed him, we should have realised he would send Dora."

Finn shook his head, "She'll terrify them," he said.

"And she's probably one of the best people to help them," said Greg, "and you know that. They'll be fine."

"They reached the door of the B&B and knocked as firmly as their nerves, their apprehension, would let them.

Pollard opened the door, his face breaking into a stricken picture of relief as he saw them. Behind him, a figure hovered.

"Boys!" she said.

...

"Well what was that all about?" asked Hazel as the echo of the door slamming behind the two departing figures faded away. "Just who is this woman?" She looked towards Aaron as though she expected him to know.

"Dunno," shrugged Aaron. "You heard him, his old tutor's sister; some old biddy that gave him tea and biscuits when he was studying I expect." He spoke sharply, confused, wondering why Finn – and Greg – had rushed away so suddenly. Who was this woman to them? Why had they never mentioned her before if she was so important that they would drop everything at the first mention of her name? He stomped from the kitchen into the living room but Jackson was sleeping so he couldn't ask him if he had ever heard of this Dora before.

In the kitchen, Hazel looked at Paddy questioningly.

"We'll find out soon enough I dare say," said Paddy. "I...we...well I'm sure we will," he bumbled, picking up the empty mugs from the table. Only Finn and Greg's weren't empty, they were still half full, still warm. For a moment he just held them, staring into the brown liquid as if it could give him an answer.

"Is everything alright, d'you think?" asked Hazel, breaking his reverie.

"What?" Paddy struggled to pull his thoughts back to the present. "Oh...yes...I'm sure it is. They're home, safe; whatever else is going on, they're here, we can help them."

Aaron looked at Jackson, he was sleeping soundly, it wouldn't be fair to wake him, however much he wanted to talk to him. Disgruntled he walked to the front door, he might as well start emptying the van; there were some things they would need tonight that couldn't wait until the morning. Besides, Cain would probably expect him back at the garage; well he could whistle for that, he was having at least one more day off, to look after Jackson, to see Finn and Greg off back to Hexham. Assuming they were still going tomorrow; assuming this Dora woman didn't change their plans.

He could easily see the B&B from the front door of Smithy, looking down the gentle hill, down the main street of the village. The door was firmly closed, there was nothing, no indication of what might be happening behind it; he wanted to see bolts of lightning or a soft pink hue covering the building, some comic book clue, some vision, as to what was happening inside. He wondered if he could just walk down to the Woollie, if he would see, hear anything. He bit his lip, sighing; he turned to the van and opened the door.

He brought in their bedding, retrieving their pillows from the other camper van; he brought in their clothes, that was easy, gathering anything he could see lying, their bags and only taking them as far as the kitchen, as far as the pile growing in front of the washing machine, one trip, two, as he turned to get more Hazel was already filling the machine with the first load of washing. Paddy helped him pull the mattress out of the van and return it to their bedroom. As Paddy left he remained behind, hastily pulling a sheet over the mattress and depositing the quilt on top of it. The bed made after a fashion, Aaron stared out of the window for a moment; it faced the front, looked down the main street; still nothing, still no sign.

Jackson was awake when he went downstairs again a few minutes later; Paddy and Hazel fusing round him, their actions, their words, telling Aaron that they had lost no time in describing Finn and Greg's surprise disappearance.

He turned a puzzled gaze on Aaron. "What's going on?" he asked. "Who is this woman? Did they really both just rush off with no explanation?"

"Yep, they really did," confirmed Aaron perching on a small coffee table, looking at Jackson and ignoring the pointed look Hazel was attempting to throw in his direction as she moved towards the kitchen.

"Who is this woman?" Jackson repeated irritably.

"From what they said, she's the sister of his tutor, one of Finn's tutors," clarified Aaron. "But I don't know anything more than that. Now d'you want a quilt down or will you be warm enough with just a sheet?"

"What d'you mean?" asked Jackson, puzzled. "I'm not sleeping down here, I'm coming up to bed with..." suddenly he faltered, the words dying on his lips. "Unless you don't want me to come up with you," he finished.

"No, of course not," said Aaron hurriedly. "I just thought you wouldn't be able to get up the stairs."

"I'll manage," said Jackson firmly, "if you give me a hand with my leg, I'll just go up backwards on my bum."

"Oh you've thought about this then!" laughed Aaron.

"I don't want not to sleep with you, not now," replied Jackson quietly, his tone serious, not responding to the light heartedness of Aaron's joke.

"I...I didn't mean anything," Aaron stumbled over the words, "I just thought it might be easier...with the plasters and everything," he finished lamely.

Jackson shook his head. "Maybe it would be, but I don't want to be apart from you just now, so long as you're okay with that?" He made it a question.

"Of course! Don't be daft," scoffed Aaron, shifting uncomfortably on the table that was his seat.

Jackson smiled at him, a small, tentative curling of his lips. A feeling of relief sank though his body; in some ways he had dreaded their return home, their return to everyday reality, when they would have to face all the things that had happened in the last few weeks. It wouldn't be easy, he knew that, but if they hadn't been able to spend the precious night time hours together it would be so much harder.

"You don't want to go up yet though, do you?" continued Aaron.

Jackson shook his head. "No, I'm okay for a bit after that doze. I wonder when Finn and Greg will be back."

Before Aaron had chance to answer, Hazel returned, a large tray held between her hands.

"Chicken curry," she announced. "I hope you're both hungry. Aaron, help Jackson sit up a bit."

Hazel's presence, the food, drove all other considerations from their mind. Neither Aaron nor Jackson had realised how hungry they were until the tempting aromas from the plates before them filled their nostrils and they turned their attention fully towards the welcome meal.

Jumping from his makeshift seat, Aaron sprang to do as he was asked. Reaching forward, he slid his arm around Jackson's shoulder, letting Jackson catch hold of him with his unbroken arm. For a moment their eyes met.

It will be alright, Aaron thought as he looked into Jackson's dark eyes, molten pools of chocolate that he could easily allow himself to drown in. There was something else though, a darkness that had nothing to do with love, lust or desire, a darkness that was a reflection of the strain Jackson had been under, the pain he had put himself through. It will be alright, reiterated Aaron to himself; it had to be, he couldn't bear to contemplate it being otherwise.


	32. Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

"Boys!"

Pollard stood back from the door. The elderly woman behind him was tiny, bird-like, but her eyes were bright, her face smiling in delight as she looked up at the two men towering in front of her.

"Coffee would be lovely, Mr Pollard," she said, linking her arms into those of Greg and Finn's, leading them towards the arm chairs, directing them to sit. "It's too long since I have seen either of you although Maximilian keeps me up to date. How is Hexham, Finn? Still keeping those dinosaurs in the church on their toes? And Greg? Are you still keeping busy with that school of yours?"

For a while the conversation was general, old friends catching up on their news. Finn and Greg relaxed a little, enjoying the banter, feeling safe.

The coffee arrived, complete with tiny biscuits more decorative than sustaining; the soft sense of security enveloped them a little further as Dora engaged them in conversation and time passed easily.

"Now tell me..." at last she turned her piercing eyes upon them. There was no escaping their kindly inquisitiveness; the razor-sharp intelligence shining through as she bluntly turned the conversation to the reason for her visit. "Tell me about these young men, your friends."

Finn took a deep breath and began to speak.

Dora listened; to the whole tale, to the story of how Finn and Greg first met Aaron and Jackson, to the twists and turns of their friendship until it brought them to the last few weeks, the days of their holiday, the day of distress and uncertainty when Aaron was missing, the horror he survived and their reactions afterwards.

Finn did most of the talking, he felt ridiculously young and naive under her intense scrutiny, her gaze seeming to cut through to the very heart of his words. He remembered the early days of his time at university, of the trepidation he felt meeting, talking to the people whose knowledge and experience far outweighed his own, who he felt could see right into his young soul, see the dark secret that burned within him, that he knew he couldn't deny, even for his vocation. Yet it was these same academics; this woman and her brother, amongst others, who had forced him to confront his demons, to read the texts, construct the arguments, that let him live at peace with his church, able to argue his right to be there against the ancient words covered in crumbling dust that some would use to deny him his faith and his love. Their wisdom had given him strength before and now he needed that wisdom again to help his friends.

Dora listened to the young man speaking so earnestly; he was still young in her eyes, though she had been almost beyond middle age when they had first met and now was a veritable matriarch with her steel grey hair, her mind, though, was as bright as ever. She could see the concern in his eyes as he spoke, for his friends, for the all consuming worry that he was letting them down by not being able to wave a magic wand and make things better for them, make every trouble disappear. Well real life wasn't like that, she was old enough to know that and so was Finn if he allowed himself to stop and clearly think. That didn't mean there was nothing they could do though.

"I'd like to meet them," she said as he finally came to a halt in his narrative. "Oh what do you think I'm going to do," she chuckled, seeing a wariness suddenly enter his eyes. "It's only my students I chew up and spit out before breakfast."

"Of course!" Finn released the breath he had caught in a gentle half laugh. "I'm sorry. Tomorrow? Where? In the church?"

"I rather thought in the pub," replied Dora with mock primness. "I am sure the young men would be more comfortable there and Mrs Sugden does serve a remarkably good range of real ales." She paused, noticing the expression of incredulity widening Finn's eyes. "I've been here two days, waiting for you boys; while Mr Pollard has been...suffocatingly attentive...I have found the atmosphere in the Woolpack more congenial."

"I'm sure they would," agreed Greg smiling a little. "Although perhaps the church would offer a little more privacy?"

"Sometimes it is better to be alone amongst a crowd, to seek privacy amongst the noise and bustle of the familiar rather than in the empty palaces of erudition," said Dora, her eyes twinkling, contrasting with the rather solemn tone she had used.

"The Woollie it is then," agreed Finn, content to let Dora dictate the terms of the meeting; after all she was the expert, it was to her he was looking for a lead, for inspiration. For magic. Now all they had to do was persuade Jackson and Aaron to meet her, to talk to her. Really talk.

...

It was late when they walked the short distance from the B&B up the slight incline in the road, back towards Smithy Cottage. They hadn't intended making the last bit of the journey to Hexham that night, but neither had they intended to stay late into the evening in conversation with their unexpected visitor. It was too late now to move the van and find somewhere suitable to park for the night. Besides, they knew both Aaron and Jackson would be bursting with curiosity, wondering at their mysterious visitor.

They knocked briefly at the door but didn't wait for a greeting before pushing open the door and stepping into the house. A noise at the top of the stairs made them look up.

"Jackson's in bed, he was pretty tired, come up," Aaron stood at the top of the stairs, only a pair of white shorts riding low on his hips, his tan enhanced by the warm glow of the light from the open door of the room behind him. He stood to one side, letting Finn and Greg enter the room in front of him.

Jackson was lying in the bed, needing only a sheet to cover him in the warmth of the late evening. He was awake, but his eyes were purple rimmed with tiredness; he began to move, struggling to shift his position in the bed.

"No no! You're fine," said Greg hurriedly. "Don't you move, we can just sit on the floor."

"There's room for us all to sit on the bed," said Aaron, moving to sit cross legged close to Jackson, leaving room for Greg and Finn lower down the bed. "There are tins in that bag on the floor there," he pointed, "or I can go down and make coffee if you'd rather," he finished lamely.

"Lager's fine," said Greg reaching for the bag, offering it round.

"I can't, with the meds," said Jackson, shaking his head once, twice as the bag came close to him. "I'll just have a mouthful of his," he nodded towards Aaron, smiling slightly as his boyfriend pulled a face at him.

"This woman," began Aaron, settling himself more comfortably, "who is she? How did she just come to turn up here? What does she want?"

"You," said Finn simply. "Both of you." He glanced between the two of them, seeing the surprise, the confusion, in their eyes. There could be no escaping it now, he had to tell them, had to confess how worried they had all been, how they had seen the picture Jackson had drawn, had seen the difficulties they had endured in the aftermath of the kidnapping. He had to tell his friends how helpless and inadequate he felt. Finn glanced between the two of them and began to speak.

In the end, it wasn't so hard, despite their interruptions, their protests that they were fine, that they didn't need help, that he was all the help they needed; their faith was touching, heart warming. In the end he obtained their agreement that they would meet Dora, talk to her at least once; just to keep him happy. He knew his eyes had filled with unshed tears as he had talked; he had felt them pricking uncomfortably across his field of vision, he had blinked, forcing them to disintegrate harmlessly, but he knew they had seen them, the tears threatening to flood from his eyes.

They had bothered with no more than the small bed side light in the room; it had been twilight when Finn started speaking, but by the time he had finished his explanation outside was the blue black darkness of a summer midnight.

For a moment there was silence after he had finished speaking; for a few seconds, none of them looked at each other, avoided catching each other's eyes. Across the light sheet, Jackson's hand inched closer to Aaron's hand until his fingers met Aaron's.

"I'm sorry," said Finn, noticing the movement, shadowy in the dimly lit room. "I felt so helpless, so unsure...we all did..." He bent his head.

Next to him, Greg slipped an arm round his shoulder; perhaps more than any of them, he had known how inadequate Finn felt himself to be. He had stayed awake with him through the long hours of the bleak nights as they talked, again and again, searching for inspiration, for a way to help, to end the hurt their friends were feeling.

"You've nothing...nothing to apologise for," said Aaron intensely. He reached out with his free hand, catching hold of Finn's arm, gripping it tightly to emphasise his words. "You have been amazing; you are always amazing and have done so much for us. For me. Nobody could do any more for us than you have, ever since we first met you."

"Finn." Jackson said his name quietly, making him look up, claiming his attention. He lay, the plasters encasing his broken arm and leg supported on pillows. Even in the eerie half light, his face looked drawn with fatigue. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for caring so much. You... both of you – and Robbie and Simon – are the best friends anyone could have. But you are putting yourself down a bit; talking to you, talking about...what happened...has helped so much..."

"But..." began Finn.

"No, Finn," interrupted Jackson. "We'll see this woman, this Dora; but it's you that has helped us through the dark places. Don't forget that; without you, these last few days would have been intolerable."

Finn hadn't realised how heavy the of weight of his care, his concern, had been upon his shoulders until Jackson's words seeped into his soul and he felt a lightness of spirit began to flood though his body. The contradiction between his view of his actions, of the help he had been to his friends and that laid before him by those very friends that had seemed miles apart suddenly seemed less distant now.

"Thank you," he whispered, not quite believing them, not quite believing that the words he felt so inadequate could have helped at all. Yet equally he knew that they wouldn't try and humour him; they knew that he would quickly perceive any lack of sincerity in their words and there had been none. Even in the warm half light, he could see the truth in their eyes.

"I think perhaps we should all try and get some sleep," Finn continued, "it's been a long day." He didn't want to think about it anymore, he couldn't; he needed to try and just blank everything out for a few hours and pray that he would feel calmer when the new day dawned.

"D'you want to move your van round the side of the house?" asked Aaron. "Paddy's on a call out so there's plenty of room and he can just tuck in behind you when he comes back."

"Erm...could do, yes," Greg answered when he saw that Finn wasn't going to; glancing at his boyfriend he could see the fatigue, the exhaustion, on his face. He touched his arm gently, pulling him back to the moment. "C'mon, let's get the van moved and get to bed," he continued.

"D'you want me to come down with you?" asked Aaron, beginning to move from the bed.

"No, you're fine," said Greg quickly, arresting his movement. "We can easily manage; we'll just pull the van as far forward as we can."

"I'll text Paddy, let him know," said Aaron.

"We'll see you in the morning," said Greg, steering Finn from the room as they said their quiet goodnights.

Aaron listened to the sound of their footsteps going downstairs and the front door closing behind them. Moments later he heard the rumble of the camper van's engine start, sounding noisy in the late night silence of the village. In a matter of seconds it was muffled as the van was moved to the side of the house, only rumbling on for a short while longer before once again the night was quiet.

Aaron sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm going to the loo, d'you want me to help you across the landing?"

Jackson thought for a moment. "I don't really need but I'll go cos I will as soon as you get back."

It took a while, manoeuvring, negotiating obstacles, supporting the two casts, but eventually they reached the bathroom, Aaron left Jackson perched awkwardly but safely and waited outside for him, jumping minutes later as he struggled to the door rather than calling him when he finished. Repeating the journey in reverse, they retraced their steps to the bedroom.

"Weeks of this is gonna kill me!" exclaimed Jackson, sinking back on to the bed.

Aaron caught his breath, his tiny gasp filling the silence.

The words couldn't be unsaid; they hung in the air between them.

Jackson groaned silently to himself; he hadn't meant...anything; it was an expression, a thoughtless comment on the frustrations he felt confined, struggling to move with two limbs encased in casts. He hadn't thought, with his flippant words, that he could so easily not have been here, that had his accident been different, Aaron might be lying in the bed alone, mourning his death. And there was still Archie, the ghost at the wake.

"I'm sorry," he said, biting his lip.

Aaron said nothing; as he climbed into the bed he bent to switch off the small lamp. Without its warm halo of light, the only brightness came from the streetlamp and the unblack sky of a summer midnight. He lay still, the knife Jackson had thrust into his heart was sharp, tearing at his soul but in his stillness, the pain lessened slowly. He knew Jackson hadn't meant anything by the careless comment, perhaps he was over reacting, yet still the hurt was there. But he knew comfort was there too; close by, if he reached out for it. In silence, in the darkness, he slid his hand across the few inches that separated them.


	33. Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

"The Woolie?" questioned Jackson in confusion. "She wants to meet us in the Woolie?" Aaron was pushing him the short distance down the slight incline towards the Woolpack, the borrowed wheelchair a basic model and jolting mercilessly at every lump and bump in the path. Across his lap and balanced awkwardly on the arms of the chair, the crutches that he had been warned to use sparingly for fear of damaging his healing arm.

"You haven't really told us that much about her? This Dora McCorkindale," said Aaron to Finn, walking at his side.

"I did!" protested Finn. "I told you that she is the sister of my old tutor."

"Didn't you say she was a nun?" put in Jackson.

"An ex-nun," corrected Finn. "She was in a teaching order, met someone, fell in love, left the order, married him..."

"Very Sound of Music," said Jackson.

"It was," agreed Finn. "Until her husband was killed in a road crash two years later."

"Oh no!" said Jackson, aghast.

"Left her with a son a few months old," said Finn. "It was a long time ago," he shrugged, "he's older than me by a few years."

They reached the Woolie and Jackson struggled from the wheelchair, leaving it parked at the door to the pub as he manipulated the crutches, steadied himself against the door frame, against Aaron and slowly made his way inside.

He paused as the swing door admitted him, taking a moment to sweep a glance around the bar. It was still early, too early for the lunch time rush, he couldn't see anyone he didn't recognise.

"That's not her surely?" asked Aaron, nodding towards the far end of the bar.

It was a figure Jackson hadn't noticed tucked away in the corner of the bar, rather overshadowed by the brilliance of Diane's décolletage.

"Never!" exclaimed Jackson, following Aaron's gaze. "That can't be her!" The woman Jackson was looking at was tiny; perched on one of the high bar stools, her feet swinging gently several inches from the ground. She was wearing a tweed skirt and despite the already warm day, a camel coloured cardigan swathed her small frame. Her steel grey hair was swept back into a tight knot at her neck, fine wisps escaping, softening her features. Hearing the door admitting the new arrivals, she turned.

"Come and be introduced," said Finn, heading towards the bar as Jackson and Aaron struggled, trying to align the image of the woman in front of them to the little Finn and Greg had told them of her.

With surprising agility, she sprang from the stool as the four young men came towards her, tilting her face upwards as Finn and Greg bent to give her a warm kiss of greeting.

"Dora, this is Jackson Walsh and Aaron Livesy," said Finn formally before turning back to his friends. "Jackson, Aaron, this is Mrs Dora McCorkindale."

They shook hands, both Aaron and Jackson feeling awkward, unsure what to say.

"Coffee perhaps," said Dora decisively, taking change. "Or tea if you would prefer, or maybe a lager or something? It's a little early for me but I know what you young men are like!"

"Coffee's fine," said Greg, glancing round at the other men, answering for all of them.

"Mrs Sugden," Dora turned back to the bar, to Diane. "Perhaps you would be so kind..."

"Of course, pet, no problem," interrupted Diane. "You go and sit down and I'll bring it over."

They moved across the room, to the curved inglenook seating that offered more of a semblance of privacy in the bar, Dora taking a seat between Finn and Greg, looking more birdlike than ever between the two tall men.

"My goodness," she said, smiling at the faces around the table. "Look at us in a public house at this time of day, I feel quite decadent!"

"We could go somewhere else if you'd rather," said Jackson quickly, "the cafe across the road is quite nice."

"Finn suggested the church," said Dora, casting a reproving look at a suddenly blushing Finn before turning back to Jackson. "I suggested meeting here; Mr Hope is very charming, but he makes exceedingly strong coffee and I find his gesticulating somewhat distracting." She spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning forward a little, creating an intimate, gossipy atmosphere. "However Mrs Sugden does a good coffee and a decent pint of ale."

Unexpectedly, Aaron started to laugh, rapidly turning it into a cough; he couldn't imagine this bird-like grey-haired granny supping pints.

For a few minutes the conversation was general, carried by Finn, Greg and Dora leaving Aaron and Jackson quieter, feeling their way with this unexpected arrival in their midst who apparently, according to Finn, knew all about the last couple of weeks – because Finn had told her.

The coffee arrived, Diane even including biscuits and receiving a delighted chuckle from Dora.

"Such a short acquaintance, Mrs Sugden, and you already know my favourites," she said.

"It's part of the art of being a good landlady, Mrs McCorkindale," explained Diane in her usual, slightly exaggerated manner. "How are the injuries, Jackson? It was such a shock when we heard you had been in an accident."

"Erm...improving thanks Diane," replied Jackson. He glanced across at Finn, a question in his eyes; she couldn't possibly know about everything that happened while they were away, could she? Not the details? Surely neither Cain nor Chas would have said anything, anything at all?

Finn gave a single shake of his head, a tiny movement, understanding and hoping to reassure Jackson.

"You're a builder, I believe, Jackson?" asked Dora.

"Yeah," he agreed wryly. "Self employed too."

"Rather an enforced holiday then," she continued sympathetically. "I do hope it won't damage your business too much. Or prove too difficult financially."

"I had just about finished all my outstanding jobs before we went on holiday," he replied. "My mother has been telephoning all the work I had lined up, explaining, postponing...most people were pretty good about it."

"Of course. People understand; accidents happen." She turned her sharp, intuitive gaze directly on Jackson.

He felt the force of her eyes, he felt pinned to his chair as though a physical force was piercing him, holding him there. There was nowhere to hide, no shelter, no escape had he wanted to run, instead surrender was the only choice.

"I think, boys," said Dora as they finished their coffee and she looked between Finn and Greg, "that I need to chat to Jackson and Aaron now."

For a second, time stood still; they had all known this had to come, Finn and Greg from the previous evening when they heard Dora was in the village, Jackson and Aaron the moment Finn confessed he had felt the need to seek help and had spoken to...to people they didn't know. To the woman now sitting opposite them; looking at them.

"Dora, I..." began Finn, concern ripping through his words.

"Finn," interrupted Doran gently, smiling at him, encouraging him, urging him to trust her now that the time had come to leave his friends in her care. She said nothing more, only looked him in the eye, holding his gaze, acknowledging his concern.

"Okay," breathed Finn, standing, easing himself away from the table, waiting as Greg mirrored his movements. It was hard leaving the table, walking away, putting distance between them until his hand reached solid wood of the door, pressed against it, not moving it until he felt the pressure of Greg's hand against the small of his back reminding him they couldn't stay. Reluctantly he swung the door open, moving through until he heard the soft thud of it closing behind Greg, closing them off from...from whatever might be happening, whatever might be said.

Dora watched them go, the faintest curve of a smile touching her lips. Then she turned her attention to the two young men sitting opposite her, saying nothing. She smiled inside this time, recognising their fear.

"I love Finn and Greg very much," she began quietly, leaning into the table a little, bringing her closer to Aaron and Jackson. "I've known them since they were your age, younger even; have watched them go from boys scared of their feelings, of the world around them, to successful and dynamic young men. They are both..." she paused, searching for the right word, "...exceptional each in their own way."

She paused again, looking at Aaron and Jackson, her sharp mind assessing, thinking, deciding what would be the most effective course of action.

She reached her hands across the table, catching hold of one each of theirs, surprising them.

"Finn doubts himself," she said intensely. "I believe he is wrong to do this but...but he wants me to talk to you, he thinks that I can help you to find the peace that he believes himself incapable of helping you find."

"Finn is..." began Aaron, "Finn is amazing. He has been such a good friend to me – to both of us..." he turned towards Jackson looking for confirmation of his words. Jackson nodded.

"He's worried about you both though," said Dora, looking between the blue eyes and chocolate brown, seeing the locked in hurt of experience in both of them. "You already know he has told me a little of the last couple of week, about what happened to both of you when you were away..."

"It didn't happen to me," interrupted Jackson. "It was Aaron; he was the one kidnapped, hurt..."

Dora turned her attention to Jackson. "You love him," she began simply, stating a fact. "There are ties that bind you; imagine, invisible threads that link you over time and distance. From different perspectives, you have shared an experience; it did not happen to one of you in isolation, it happened to both of you, indeed it happened to the friends who shared that holiday with you. It is perhaps because of this affinity, that Finn feels somewhat ineffective in the help he can give you." She looked at them both, looked for signs that they were beginning to see, to understand.

"And then there is the guilt," she said gently into the silence at the table; her words rewarded with breath sharply in drawn, quickly hidden, disguised. "Experience and guilt; two corners of the triumvirate that I see surrounding you; the third aspect is the journey to resolution."

"You mean..." Aaron began to speak, then stopped, taking a single deep breath before continuing. "You mean we can feel better about...this...everything? That we can work through it?" He glanced at Jackson, looking for a sign that he was not saying too much, not admitting too much.

Jackson bit his lip, feeling the soft curls of his short beard tickling against sensitive skin. He could feel his heart suddenly pounding in his chest, his stomach churning, even his skin seemed to be tingling in anticipation of...of something...something that he couldn't, didn't dare, put a name to in case it was a dream, a false hope; a miasma of the mind.

"Well that is not an expression I care for," Dora smiled at Aaron, "but yes, if you wish, I believe we can 'work through' this situation, although I warn you both now, you may not find it an easy or comfortable endeavour."

Aaron and Jackson looked at each other; trying to read each other's mind, share their thoughts. There was a choice, but they had no choice, did they.

Slowly Jackson nodded. "We'll do it," he said, his voice quiet, rasping with emotion.

"Talk to me then," urged Dora intently, her sharp eyes alert, shining with intensity. "Talk to me; I _can _help you."


	34. Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34

Ching! Ching! Ching!

The sharp sound of metal hitting aimlessly against metal echoed around the garage; a grating, repetitive noise that filled the small space, bouncing off the walls, off the odd assortment of cars, complete and in pieces, that filled the space.

Ching! Ching! Ching!

"Will you stop making that noise," growled Cain through gritted teeth. "You're the one who thought this was a good idea, now deal with it!"

Finn flung the spanner! wrench! whatever it was! down onto the nearest work surface with a clatter!

"For fuck sake!" exploded Cain, "will you go and get some lager or something!" He reached into his pocket and threw a £20 note beside the spanner.

"I'll go!" Greg jumped up from the old car seats that he had been curled up on at the back of the garage. He had been sitting quietly, half hidden in the gloom despite the sunlight outside that didn't quite penetrate the inner depths of the building. He grabbed the money, hastening from the building as quickly as he could; he remembered the few times before that Finn had been consumed by such an overwhelming anxiety; it was easier to let him deal with it in his own, sometimes noisy, way.

"It was your idea," repeated Cain as Greg disappeared along the short lane that led to the main street. "Why are you getting yourself in such a tizzy now?"

"Because...because," spluttered Finn, "I should have been able to help them!"

"But you are, aren't you?" questioned Cain reasonably. "Like the advert says 'I don't know but I know a man' – or in this case woman – 'who does!' Don't beat yourself up over it; you're doing the best you can." He turned back and leant deep into the engine he was working on.

Finn turned and paced a few steps away from him, all the cluttered garage would allow.

"So why doesn't that make me feel any better?" he asked, not expecting an answer.

"Because you're getting yourself mixed up with your boss," suggested Cain, his sarcastic tone not lost as his voice echoed from the engine.

"Fuck you!" spat Finn angrily, turning to walk past him, out of the garage.

Cain moved quickly, spinning on his heels, catching Finn by the shoulder, pulling him hard round to face him.

"Finn," Cain said warily, his dark, hooded eyes fixed on Finn's light ones. "You've been brilliant, with Aaron, Jackson...all of us...but you can't do it all. Sometimes it's the harder, more difficult thing to stand back and let someone else continue what you started," he paused, hoping Finn was listening, really listening to him. "You need to stand back now; let this Dora do what you believe she can do to help them."

"Fuck you," said Finn again, but this time his voice was barely above a whisper as he turned to face Cain, his eyes suddenly swimming with tears.

"This isn't you, Finn," continued Cain. "You cope with everyone else's shit, everyday, but just now you need to take care of yourself, cut yourself some slack, man! Let go a bit."

"I can't," whispered Finn, "it's too hard."

"Am I gonna have to thump some sense into you?" growled Cain.

"Probably," replied Finn, the single word caught between a sob and a laugh.

"Ah fuck it," sighed Cain, pulling the other man closer to him, hugging him, feeling the tension rigid within him, feeling his body shake as he sobbed into his shoulder. Feeling awkward, knowing it would help, Cain gently rubbed his hand across Finn's back, waiting for the quiet storm of emotion to subside.

"Sorry," said Finn at last, stepping back from Cain, sniffing, wiping his hand briefly across his eyes, wiping away the evidence of his tears.

Cain shrugged. "You're welcome," he said. "But if you ever tell anyone..." he growled, leaving the rest of the sentence unsaid.

"I won't," smiled Finn, seeing the warmth of friendship in Cain's eyes despite his words. "And you're right," he continued, "I do need to recognise my limitations, stand back a bit."

"And you're not abandoning them, you know," said Cain reasonably, moving to the small kitchen and filling the kettle from the single cold tap. "Sit down, I'll make coffee."

"Maybe I'll just wait for the lager," said Finn, slumping onto one of the old car seats in the corner of the small kitchen area.

"You might be waiting a while," said Cain, flicking the kettle on and reaching for the two cleanest mugs he could find. "Greg seemed keen to get away.

"He was rather, wasn't he," agreed Finn reluctantly. "Better go with the coffee then and I'll make it up to Greg later."

"Eugh!" shrugged Cain with a laugh, "too much information!"

"Sorry," said Finn, a rather feeble chuckle escaping as he spoke. "I didn't really mean...I mean..." he faltered, "oh I think I'd better just shut up!"

"Sounds like a plan to me," agreed Cain, "here." He handed Finn the mug of coffee then leant back against an old kitchen cupboard that had seen many a better day but still did a turn for storing...stuff... and as a surface for balancing more stuff high in perilous piles.

They sipped their coffee in companionable silence; Finn glanced at the man opposite him, his dark features, usually wary, protected by an air of danger, aggression, were relaxed for once. His face looked softer, suddenly more like Aaron's, suddenly, for a moment, the resemblance was unmistakable.

"When are you going back to Hexham?" asked Cain, breaking the silence.

"We've put it off for a few more days but I have to be back by the end of the week," Finn answered.

"And will they be," Cain paused, hunting for the right word. "Will they be better by then?"

Finn didn't answer at once; he knew what Cain meant; he wanted to reassure him, offer him the comfort he needed in the soft, uncertain places behind his tough exterior, but he didn't want to mislead him.

"I'm not sure if being better are the right words, the right idea," he continued slowly, thinking as he spoke. "I think it is more an acceptance of what has happened; dealing with it, moving on." He paused again. "To be honest, I don't know how Dora will deal with it; what she will say to them."

"Cain nodded slowly. "We'll just have to wait and see then, won't we?" He looked at Finn, holding his eyes. "I dare say I don't even know the half of what has been going on with them, do I?"

Finn had the grace to drop his eyes then; a soft flush crept briefly over his cheeks, fading almost as quickly.

"I'm sorry," he said, returning his gaze to Cain, steady now. "They are not my feelings to share; my story to tell." He shrugged apologetically.

"It's okay," said Cain, "I get that. Really. It's just...I worry." The admission slipped quietly from his lips.

"I understand," said Finn.

"It's not that I didn't care before," continued Cain quickly. "I did. But now...he's my son...it's as though my heart holds him differently. He's so fucking beautiful." His last words were less than a whisper, a breath.

Sometimes silence was the best choice; a moment of space to let the words settle around them, let the ideas that had been released find their place, their balance in the new universe. Finn said nothing.

"I remember the day Chas brought him home," continued Cain, his voice lost in the past; almost talking to himself, "well, to the hovel that Shadrach called home at the time. She had Gordon with her, all loved up and acting the proud daddy. She didn't even look at me...but I didn't look at her either..." he shrugged. "We just never thought...not for a minute. I saw him though, his small round face, flawless skin; he kept his eyes closed but kept pulling faces as though he was aware of us all, was listening to us all."

Still Finn said nothing, sensing that Cain was still lost in his memories.

"I missed so much of his growing up, those early years; I just wasn't there, off doing my own thing, dodgy wheeling and dealing. Just occasionally he'd be there, another Dingle brat." At last he looked directly at Finn. "He's still a brat," he added, although he was unable to hide the pride, the fondness, the love even, in his tone.

"But one we both care about," said Finn quietly.

Cain said nothing, only raised his eyebrows briefly, inclining his head once in mute agreement.

"Thanks," said Finn.

"What for?" questioned Cain, puzzled.

"Kicking some sense into me," answered Finn wryly.

"Any time, Reverend Nicholson," smiled Cain.


	35. Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

Aaron looked at his watch; he shook his wrist, disbelieving the time shown on the dial, surely the battery must have run out in the early hours of the morning and he'd not noticed; it couldn't be that late in the afternoon, they couldn't have talked for so long.

Two empty pint glasses stood on the table, one in front of him, one in front of Jackson, a third pint glass, still half full, stood in front of Dora. The demolished remains of a large plate of sandwiches also decorated the table.

"It can't be that time," he said out loud, looking at his watch again."

"I rather think it is," said Dora, smiling as Jackson looked at his watch too.

"Where's the day gone," demanded Aaron. "We can't have been talking that long. Did you hypnotize us or something?"

"No," laughed Dora, "I don't use tricks like that, at least, not without telling you and your full consent. We were just talking."

"We couldn't have been talking all that time?" ventured Jackson.

A smile touched Dora's lips. "Well you did stop to eat the sandwiches that Mrs Sugden produced as if by magic, but that was over two hours ago."

"It seems like no time at all," said Aaron. His head felt like cotton wool; it was true they had been talking, he remembered the ebb and flow of conversation as first he, then Jackson, revealed the events of the last few days, the last week; further back. But his recollection of the conversation was fragmented, disjointed snippets, a haphazard tapestry of thoughts, feelings and happenings caught together in a mismatched narrative. Listening to them, saying little yet directing their memories with a skill born of years of experience, Dora unravelled the events that tainted them, their lives, their friendships.

"Oh god!" breathed Aaron quietly. Suddenly he felt sick, a wave of nausea flooding, overwhelming him; he felt all the strength drain from his body, yet he was still sitting on his seat, he was surprised, he could have sworn that every muscle, every bone, had disintegrated within him and he was nothing more than a quivering mass of sentient jelly. He began to shake.

He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as his nails, short though they were, bit into the fleshy palms of his hands. His head was full of images, images that for the past ten days he had tried to suppress, pushing the pictures to the back of his mind, trying to ignore their festering presence. He wanted to run, get away, but his limbs wouldn't move, wouldn't answer his commands.

"Aaron."

The voice was gentle, the word hardly breathed above a whisper, but it caught his attention, captured him, held him safely. Dora looked at him, her eyes full of concern. But full of strength too, full of trust in her own ability, secure in the knowledge that she could help him; help both of the young men in front of her, young men whose distress she had witnessed firsthand this afternoon, who perhaps didn't realise, even yet, how much they had shown her as they had been talking.

"You're safe, Aaron," she continued quietly. "It is not easy," she paused, "but the worst is over. You have just looked into you own thoughts, your own memories, confronted – again – the horror you have been trying to hide from all these days. Together though; if you are willing, together we are going to work to put these memories in their proper place, in the past; not forgotten, but in a state of acceptance."

She turned to Jackson. "And you, Jackson," she said, "you can move beyond this too." She looked at Jackson; he had said less than Aaron but she knew there was as much distress and anxiety tied up within him although, for the moment, he had seemed less at ease talking to her. But he was nodding at her, his eyes holding hers, accepting her help.

"Good!" she said cheerfully, firmly, as if they had both spoken. "That's settled then! Aaron, you will be back at work tomorrow, I'm sure, but perhaps we could meet in the evening? And Jackson, shall we meet for lunch?"

...

An hour later they were sitting in the field behind Smithy Cottage; the meadow grass was long and fragrant, waiting to be mown for hay but for now they lay, relishing its sweet smell and the evening sun on their backs.

"I don't really understand how it happened." Aaron lay on his stomach, leaning on his elbows; he played with a long ear of grass, stripping the seeds from the stem. "And I've no idea what we talked about all day."

Finn twisted his head and smiled at him; he was lying with his head on Greg's lap, seduced by the sunshine and his lover's fingers twisting gently through his hair.

"Don't even try to understand," he said, squinting into the bright sunlight. "It's all part of the Dora magic, part of why she is so effective at helping people."

"But what did we say?" questioned Jackson. "How much did we tell her about...you know?"

"Probably everything," answered Finn with a certainty that filled both Aaron and Jackson with dread. "But it won't go any further; she's like a priest in that respect." He lifted one shoulder in a wry shrug, well aware that Aaron and Jackson might consider he had spoken out of turn in sharing his concerns with Maximilian Crombie. He felt Greg's fingers slide from his hair to his shoulder, gently squeezing, he understood.

"And what does she want to see us for tomorrow," continued Aaron. "She thinks I'm going to work and..."

"Aren't you?" interrupted Jackson.

"I thought you would need me around...to help you...whatever," said Aaron, the words trailing lamely into nothingness as he realised he wasn't sure what Jackson wanted. He sat up as he spoke, looking at Jackson sitting uncomfortably in the borrowed wheelchair.

"Mum'll be around," said Jackson. "And I don't know how long I'll be with Dora...you might as well..."

"And we'll still be here," said Greg, shifting, changing position from where he had been leaning against Jackson's chair. "At least until the day after tomorrow. Then..."

"Then we will have to head back north," said Finn, sitting up. "I really have to be back in Hexham for the weekend. But Dora will look after you, I promise, just trust her."

"And we'll back," added Greg, "very soon. Or you can come up to us - anytime."

"It just feels so..." Aaron paused, searching for the right word. "It just feels unreal with her...we talk...she must talk...but it's impossible to remember what's said. She's not a witch, is she?" he added.

"No!" chuckled Finn, "she's just a very caring and very skilled practitioner. Let's forget it for now and head back; see if we can escape to Hotton without getting caught by Hazel – no offense Jackson!"

"None taken, mate!" laughed Jackson. "I did tell her we were meeting Robbie and Simon tonight, but you know what she's like, that won't stop her!"

They made their way back to Smithy to get ready, Finn and Greg going into their van to change while Aaron and Jackson went into the house. Up in their bedroom, Aaron pulled off his tee shirt.

"What d'you think?" he asked.

"About what?" replied Jackson, sinking tiredly onto the bed.

"Dora," said Aaron. He rummaged round amongst the clutter on the chest of drawers, extracting a tin of deodorant from the debris. "It just feels so peculiar."

"But you're going with it, aren't you?" replied Jackson quickly.

"Oh yeah, I didn't mean anything like that," said Aaron generously spraying himself with deodorant as he spoke. "It's just...we were with her all day today and like we said, it's all a bit of a blur. Except just before we left...suddenly it all seemed so clear...the last few days, what happened...and I just felt so sick. You want a hand with your tee shirt?"

"Please," said Jackson, beginning to ease his good arm out of his tee shirt.

Aaron helped him work the tee shirt over the cast on his other arm, then reversed the process, helping him on with a fresh shirt, then again as he changed from cut offs into his baggiest jeans,

"D'you mind if we don't talk about it tonight," Aaron began hesitantly as he pulled on his own clean clothes. "No post mortem...forget about Dora...as much as we can anyway.

"Sounds good to me," agreed Jackson. "But what about the others?"

"Text 'em?" suggested Aaron, picking up his mobile. "I'll text Finn, you text Robbie."

"My phone's downstairs," said Jackson as he watched Aaron quickly typing a message to Finn. He eased himself from the bed, beginning the tricky process of manoeuvring himself downstairs; he had made the journey several times now and though he was definitely getting quicker it still took him a few minutes to gingerly lower himself from step to step down the steep flight of stairs..

Aaron watched him from the top landing, he knew better now than to offer to help. He glanced down at his phone, glad Jackson had been in agreement, although it would be impossible to forget it all together, to at least agree not to talk about it lifted a huge weight from his shoulders. The message to Finn had gone, through cyberspace, across the short distance to their van outside Smithy Cottage. For all it was only a few steps away, less than a minutes' walk, he didn't want to have to ask, to suggest or even say the words out loud; to have sent the text, to have agreement before they went out was easier and easy felt a good option.


	36. Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

Finn picked up his phone, alerted by the tone of an arriving text; he stared at the screen, saying nothing until at last Greg came towards him and gently turned his hand, letting him read the message that had arrived.

"What do you think it means?" he asked, his voice weary.

"I think it means exactly what it says," replied Greg, trying to reassure Finn. "They want to go out and not talk about it. End of; nothing more nothing less."

"Perhaps I shouldn't have involved Dora," said Finn, more to himself than to Greg.

"You didn't, the Professor did," pointed out Greg reasonably, watching as Finn began to pace in the confined space.

"I shouldn't have said anything, to either of them. I..."

"Finn!" Greg spoke sharply as he put out a hand to his shoulder, stopping him. "Finn," he repeated more gently. "You needed someone to talk to, although I admit, we should have remembered what they are like. Think back; remember how they were with you, how they weren't going to let you quit theology college. All that stuff they threw at you, even those texts they made you translate until you could cope with being gay and religious. They are formidable and Dora isn't going to stop now, not unless Aaron or Jackson ask her to stop. And they are fine, well, they are coping, they just don't want to talk about it tonight. Okay?"

Greg looked at Finn and wished, not for the first time, that he could turn the clock back for him, for all of them. He couldn't; all he could do was try to help. He pulled Finn into his arms and hugged him close.

"Sorry," mumbled Finn into his shoulder.

"What for?" asked Greg, easing back, trying to look into Finn's eyes.

"Being a drama queen. And you're the second person today that's told me off for it," said Finn.

"Why? Who else has been having a go?" demanded Greg, genuinely puzzled.

"Cain," admitted Finn, "when you went for the lager."

"What did he say?" Greg felt annoyance, anger even, beginning to prickle below his skin.

"No, he was fine, I needed it," replied Finn hurriedly, "honestly. I'll tell you later. Let's go and find the others. Did you phone for a taxi?"

...

Robbie and Simon walked down the road towards the centre of Hotton and Bar West.

"D'you think this is a good idea," asked Simon.

"Shit, I don't know," replied Robbie. "Greg said they were okay when he phoned, but this woman who's turned up would make things pretty heavy for them. Maybe we'll know more tonight, if we get a chance to speak to Finn or Greg alone."

"Makes me feel kinda awkward," said Simon, "like I won't know what to say or will put my foot in it."

"Don't be daft," said Robbie, bumping his shoulder against his boyfriend. "We just need to try and ignore what has happened, at least for tonight; not talk about it anyway."

"See, if nobody had said anything, it wouldn't have occurred to me to mention it," said Simon, "not on a night out. Now because I am thinking about not mentioning it, I probably will. And then I'll get embarrassed and won't know what to say and it will all be just terrible!"

"Drama queen!" laughed Robbie. "Just be your normal self."

"And do what?" asked Simon.

"Oh, the usual; flirt with Aaron, flirt with Jackson, flirt with Finn and Greg!"

"I do not!" protested Simon hotly

Robbie stopped in his tracks and stared at him. "You so do!" he laughed, "but it's okay cos I know it's me you love!"

"I do!" agreed Simon. "So kick me or something, if you think I'm about to say something silly."

"It'll be fine," said Robbie as they reached Bar West.

The bar was quite busy for a week night; many of the tables were occupied by couples, by groups, the pool table was in use, a line of coins stretching along the wooden rim. At the bar, a few folk stood, nursing their drinks, surveying the other drinkers, their eyes skimming over each new arrival.

Robbie and Simon nodded to friends, to acquaintances as they made their way to the bar. There was no sign of Finn and Greg or Aaron and Jackson so they bought two pints and settled themselves in seats that gave them a view of the main doors.

They didn't have long to wait, the second time the door pushed open, their friends tumbled in; they were laughing.

"Did you see his face?"

"I thought he was gonna explode!"

"He just wanted to say something the whole journey!"

"He couldn't get away quick enough!"

"We just had the most obnoxious taxi driver!" exclaimed Greg, parking Jackson's wheelchair before dropping into the seat beside Simon.

"I really thought you were gonna say something, Finn!" laughed Aaron. "What does everyone want to drink?"

"He was okay when you just said Hotton," said Jackson continuing the story as Aaron went to the bar. "It was when you said to drop us at Bar West! - his face kinda went purple!" His dark eyes danced with laughter as he told his part of the tale.

Simon looked at Jackson sitting in the borrowed wheelchair beside him, then glanced over at the bar at Aaron, at Finn and Greg, still chuckling with amusement; it was hard to remember it was all a veneer, an act; for an evening they were papering over the cracks in their world.

Aaron returned, carefully carrying a tray loaded with their drinks. "Anyone fancy a game of pool?" he asked. "I'll stick the money up."

Yeah, I'll play," said Simon; he caught Robbie's eye, caught the flash of laughter across his boyfriend's face although it took him a moment to realise why he was almost smirking at him. He smiled back at Robbie; perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult after all.

It was a while before Aaron's money was at the front of the line winding its way along the rim of the pool table and he and Simon moved onto the table. The time had passed easily, Simon reflected, conversation, banter; it could have been any of the dozens of nights they had been at Bar West together. He glanced at Aaron, all his attention seemed to be on the table, on the balls, watching their position as they came to rest after each shot. It all seemed so normal, so natural, thought Simon, yet really, it couldn't be far from any of their minds.

The crack of each ball smacking sharply against the next jangled, Aaron jumped inside but kept his features bland, calm; he smiled, joked; it was easy, he could do this! It was something of a relief to be out, away from Emmerdale again. Although he could almost count in hours the length of time they had been back, his mind, his body felt heavy with the emotion of those hours. Hours filled with an intensity he couldn't remember in its entirety, his mind cushioning his thoughts, his memories; a safety net. He smiled...and potted another ball.

Finn could swear that he could feel his heart beating, thumping, in his chest; he sipped his pint and leant comfortably against a wall that allowed him a good view of the pool table. He had done the right thing, hadn't he? He couldn't have stood by and done nothing but he had needed help; Cain believed he had done the right thing – it helped knowing that, made it easier to cope with the overwhelming insecurity he felt. If only he could turn the clock forward and see if he had done the right thing, if Dora could work some of her magic. "Have faith..." the words suddenly echoed silently in his head as he stood in the bar buzzing with noise and life; it was the code he lived by, a reminder slipping into his consciousness from...somewhere. He watched Aaron pot a ball; he smiled, have faith.

Robbie watched Simon bending over the table and couldn't help but admire the curve of his arse in his tight jeans as he lined up his eye along his cue, lifting one foot from the floor and balancing to take his shot. His mind strayed further, peeling the clothes from his boyfriend's body in his mind, imagining the scene in their bedroom later in the evening. A slight smile played across his lips; he turned to pick up his pint, his eyes unexpectedly catching Jackson's across the table; he broadened his smile, just a little; a wry camaraderie passing between them as a cold chill flashed down his spine.

Jackson gazed around at his friends; he was enjoying the evening, the banter, the escape, although he felt rather light headed, a light-headedness that had nothing to do with the painkillers he had swallowed before they came out but was all to do with the day, the hours he had spent with Aaron and Dora, hours that seemed hazy in his memory, unreal. But he was not thinking about that; he pushed stray thoughts firmly away, fixing his gentle smile more securely in place as he eased his position in his chair, moved his leg on the low stool that had been found for him and gazed around at his friends. He gritted his teeth.

Greg stood at the bar waiting to get the next round of drinks, his eyes roaming along the rows of bottles that lined the back of the bar, exotic bottles of bright, glistening alcohol, enticingly pretty but not to his taste. He fingered his phone in his pocket, resisting the temptation to take it out and read the text message once again. But he didn't need to read it again, the six words were scored into his consciousness; _Don't worry, about any of them. D. _He hadn't needed that final initial; her number had been in his phone for years, rarely used. But he hadn't realised she had kept his as faithfully. As he stood watching the play of light upon the liquid in the bottles he knew he needn't be worried, not any more.

...

Dora took a sip of the malt whisky that had sat at her elbow for several hours; she had a sheaf of papers on her lap, papers covered in her tiny writing; writing that was a curious mixture of words and symbols; a unique hieroglyphic code that made sense only to her.

Her phone was on the table beside her; she had spoken to her brother – to hell with the cost - she had needed to run a few things by him; his advice was always good. She glanced at the four walls of the room around her; this wouldn't do, this wouldn't do at all, she thought; Mrs Sugden now, perhaps she would be the person to ask. She would do that tomorrow, first thing; it was a good job she was an early riser, she thought wryly to herself, the next few weeks were going to be busy.

The night passed, slipped into day; she slept, but not for long, as the dawn broke she was awake, glad of the small kettle and the small tray crammed with the necessary to make tea or coffee, or even instant hot chocolate, in her room. After breakfast, she asked for the telephone number of the Woolpack and not many minutes later was walking briskly past the closed front door of the pub, turning the corner to find the discrete back door.

The smell of fresh coffee greeted her, she smiled, even faced with an unexpected guest this early in the morning, Mrs Sugden was the perfect hostess.

"Sit yourself down pet," said Diane comfortably, pouring the coffee. "The bottling up can wait a few minutes for me. Now what can I do for you?"

"This is really very kind of you, Mrs Sugden," began Dora. She had been debating with herself how much she should tell the kindly publican. She sipped her coffee delicately. "I was wondering if you might know of any properties that might be available for a short term rent. I find I need to stay in the area for a while."

Diane looked at the small, birdlike woman in front of her, weighing up the vagueness of her words, contrasting them with the bright, alert manner that was her usual demeanour. Regarding her shrewdly, she suspected she had a fair idea why her visitor suddenly needed to sat in the village, she had been the custodian of bar room gossip for long enough to understand when discretion was required.

"You might try Mr Macey, Declan, at Home Farm," she began thoughtfully, "he has a number of properties in the area, although..." she paused.

"Although?" prompted Dora.

"Although I suspect he charges top whack for rent," continued Diane quickly, sounding indignant. "He might have a house or..." she paused again, thinking. "How much room do you need? The flat above the cafe is still empty, Bob and the twins are living at Dale Head now, he might rent it to you and I'm sure he'd be cheaper than Declan! And it's furnished too!"

"That sounds a distinct possibility," declared Dora, pleased. "I shall speak to Mr Hope directly and if one or two other details work," she paused, imagining the stairs and picturing the casts on Jackson's arm and leg, "Yes, all being well, that sounds ideal."

It was all arranged with remarkable ease. Finishing her coffee with Diane, Dora crossed the road to the cafe, spoke to Bob and had a first viewing of the flat. If Jackson could manage the stairs, it would suit her very well for a few weeks, big enough for her needs and offering privacy for her visitors.

When she met Jackson later that morning, she asked about stairs, outlining her plan. Smiling, he reassured her, stairs, while inelegant and slow, were not a problem.

Delighted, she sighed in relief; now they could really begin to do some work.

...

The small flat was a godsend; it was a nest, a retreat, a safe haven hiding their tears, because there were tears, rivers of tears. There was laughter too though and long moments of silence, of reflection. There was a routine, a uniformity to the visits; Jackson would visit during the day, Aaron in the evening. Sometimes they would all three meet together; sometimes they would remove to the Woolpack.

Days passed, a week, two weeks; almost before Aaron and Jackson realised it, a month had passed; real life had moved, changed, to include Dora, to include the conversations that became hazier the more they thought about them, the more they tried to recollect the words, but around them, their world became solid, reaffirmed.


	37. Chapter 37

CHAPTER 37

The height of summer had passed now, the long light evenings beginning to be a memory; in a twilight hour, Aaron lay on the floor of the flat; he had been silent for a while but Dora was patient, content now to wait and let him take the conversation where he would.

"Do you think we're getting better?" he asked, twisting backwards to look up at her.

"Do you see becoming better as a finite process?" countered Dora, throwing a question back at him. "I mean," she said, elaborating as she saw the puzzlement in his eyes, "do you see 'better' as a particular place you will reach one day, a moment you will arrive at, recognise and never move from again?"

"Yes," agreed Aaron. "I mean no," he contradicted himself. "I dunno...I just wondered," he finished lamely.

"Aaron," sighed Dora, "you are 'better', you always have been 'better'," she smiled at him. "Perhaps what you need to ask yourself is 'are you coping'? Have our chats helped you to cope? But that begs the question, 'what is coping?"

"Has this been therapy?" Aaron asked, ignoring the tangle of her question. She was good at that, he had realised, tangling questions.

"Do you think it has been?" replied Dora, asking a question again.

Aaron screwed up his face in concentration as he considered his answer to the question; he wasn't really sure what therapy entailed but this hadn't felt like his vague idea of it. He shook his head a little.

"Can I get back to you on that one?" he asked.

"Of course," laughed Dora. "But don't spend too much time worrying about it. Now put the kettle on and we'll have a coffee before you go."

She watched him move smoothly from the floor, rising easily and going through to the small kitchen. It had been a long month, she was tired, she wasn't as young as she once was, but it had been worthwhile, so worthwhile. She smiled to herself, a wry smile tinged with sadness; they had been to some dark places together, she had held him as he cried, tears for Jackson, tears for his friends, a storm of tears for a young man he had known so briefly. He had reached these places himself; she was perhaps only a guide, a torch, offering a beacon of light in his darkness. But he had faced the darkness with bravery and she believed he had reached beyond his darkness.

Jackson too; in some ways it had been harder to reach Jackson; guilt was perhaps a more difficult, more insidious emotion to dislodge, to make safe. But they had worked hard together; she had tried to open his eyes, make him see; she wasn't sure that she had, in the end all she could do was try to weave a safety net for him. She hoped she had done that now.

"What time is Jackson's appointment at the hospital tomorrow?" she called as she heard the clatter of mugs and jars in the kitchen.

"Three fifteen," called back Aaron, "Hazel's taking him."

Dora could hear the disappointment in his voice, even from where she sat at the table in the sitting room.

"And...?" Dora left the question hanging in the air.

"And nothing," said Aaron, coming back into the room. "Cain's got stuff he needs doing, Hazel's free; it's no big deal." He handed her the mug of coffee before dropping into the seat opposite her.

Dora looked at him, debating with herself. Soon, she thought. Tomorrow.

"Tea at the Woollie then, afterwards," she suggested, making up her mind. "I have something I need to talk to you both about."

Aaron squinted at her, puzzled.

"Don't look so worried," continued Dora. "Have you heard from Greg and Finn recently?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah," replied Aaron, comfortably slurping his coffee. "We're going up at the weekend. Oh!" He stopped speaking abruptly, realising. "I'm sorry, Dora, we should have said something sooner."

"No, no! That's fine, Aaron," Dora said, quickly reassuring; the timing couldn't have worked out more perfectly she thought. "I'm sure you'll have a lovely weekend; Greg is a good host."

"He is," agreed Aaron, thinking of the hearty meals he had had at the Vicarage in previous visits. It would be nice to get away again, even if it was only for a couple of nights.

They parted a short while later; Aaron to walk the few steps up to Smithy Cottage, Dora picked up a blank piece of paper and stared at it. Then she reached for her telephone.

...

Aaron jumped into the bed beside Jackson.

"I'm so glad this is the last night we're gonna have to do this," he said bouncing round onto his stomach as close to Jackson as he could, "I want my own side of the bed back."

"Oh I don't know about that," protested Jackson, "I've rather got used to this side now; I quite like it."

"Oh no way!" laughed Aaron, snuggling closer, putting his arm across Jackson's belly. "Once those casts are off tomorrow, we're back to normal; it still feels all wrong doing it this way round!" His hand slid across Jackson's flat stomach, caressing his flank; his fingers making small, teasing, circular movements across his skin. He felt Jackson move under his touch, easing away, then pushing into his fingers.

"Shit! This is so hard!" breathed Jackson. "I want to be on top of you and fuck you properly."

"Patience," replied Aaron, a smile in his voice, "tomorrow." He bent his head to Jackson's chest, nuzzling into the smooth skin below his shoulder, his lips grazing, gently nibbling their way towards his nipple. He sucked a little, feeling the small bud begin to swell under his attentions, flicking his tongue over the growing hardness.

Jackson moved his good arm over Aaron's back, his fingers making small, circular movements at the back of his neck, feeling his short, spiky hair, still damp from his shower, leaving its moisture on his fingers.

His touch sent shivers of anticipation the length of Aaron's spine, he moved, trailing tiny kisses across Jackson's body.

Suddenly Jackson squirmed away from him.

"Ah that tickles!" he gasped, twisting away a little. "You know it always tickles when you get me there!"

"I know," replied Aaron, grinning down at him. All at once they were a tangle of limbs, twisting, writhing, Jackson hampered by the casts, had only one leg and arm to defend himself with, to hold Aaron against him with.

"I am so gonna get you back tomorrow!" exclaimed Jackson, attempting to lunge at Aaron but prevented by the awkward casts, he fell back to the bed, laughing.

"No you won't," teased Aaron, "you won't have the strength and will still have to be careful. I on the other hand..." he left the remainder of the sentence unsaid. Suddenly his hands seemed to be everywhere over Jackson's body, tickling, teasing, caressing, arousing; his lips followed, kisses reigning down on any bit of skin he could reach.

Pinned beneath him, Jackson responded; breathlessly he nipped, drawing Aaron's attention, their lips met, their tongues collided, played with each other, danced a lust-filled, erotic dance.

Aaron thrust his hips against Jackson, his hardening cock caught between them; it felt good, the pressure against it as he held Jackson tightly to him, his fingers raking the length of his back. His hands reached lower; Jackson was hard too, for a moment Aaron let his hand stroke it then he moved, turning quickly until he could put his lips to it.

Jackson groaned; his excitement rocketing as Aaron's lips slid over his cock head, his tongue pausing to tease his slit that was already beginning to slowly leak pre-cum. With his good arm, he pushed against Aaron's hip until Aaron understood and moved to straddle him.

Jackson could reach Aaron now, could caress him, cup his balls, tighten his grip slightly and feel the matching increase in pressure on himself. He leant forward a little, able to reach Aaron's buttocks; he kissed them, ran his tongue slowly over the patch of skin he could reach; in the soft darkness he could still make out the contours of Aaron's body, the curve of his butt cheeks, the soft puckering flower of his arse. He blew, gently and instantly felt rather than heard the deep groan of arousal that thrilled through Aaron's body, almost lying now on top of him. He bent his head forward and blew again, his warm breath so close to Aaron's skin he could almost feel his soft hairs moving in the breeze he created. He put out his tongue, flicking it rapidly over that puckered flower, even in that brief moment, feeling it tense then relax until he licked again.

Getting more urgent now as their excitement increased, Aaron's mouth sucked firmly on Jackson's rigid cock, his tongue and teeth teasing as his movements increased their speed, matching Jackson's own. He could feel the tension building, a shudder beginning to constrict in the centre of his being; Jackson had stopped blowing and licking now, his fingers touching and exploring were controlling the sensations flooding through Aaron's body.

Jackson's breath was coming in ragged gasps now, the moments between each breath allowing his crescendo to build; his fingers stopped moving, only clutching Aaron's balls as he held his breath, second after second, shaking slightly as his orgasm took him. As he took a deep shuddering breath into his desperate lungs he suddenly knew Aaron was on the very brink of his own orgasm. Returning his attention to Aaron, Jackson slid his hand up and down his cock, licked his tongue, once around his arse and upwards, teasing his crack.

Aaron came. Copiously; his juice shot out, covering Jackson's hand and dripping down onto his chest. With a last shuddering, heaving sigh of satisfaction, Aaron rolled from Jackson's body.

Jackson moved, awkward, hampered by his casts, he twisted towards Aaron.

"Ouch!" The thud of cast against head.

Jackson flopped back onto the bed. "Sorry," he gasped, "I didn't mean..."

"It's okay," answered Aaron, propped up on one elbow now, the other hand rubbing his head. He was lying against Jackson's legs, still facing his feet.

"I was trying to reach that tee shirt," explained Jackson, nodding over his side of the bed. "My leg must have moved and got you."

"Like I said," Aaron sat up and reached over Jackson, scooping up the tee shirt from the floor, "I shall be very glad when you get those things off tomorrow." He began dabbing at Jackson's chest.

"Here, I'll do that," Jackson snatched the tee shirt from him and began scrubbing at his chest. He squinted down, looking from his chest to the cast on his arm. "I hope none of this stuff has got onto my casts, it's not like there hasn't been enough of it around the last few weeks." He lifted his arm, twisted his head near to the edge of the cast and sniffed.

"Well there won't be much of it there, will there," scoffed Aaron. He bent forward and sniffed.

Jackson giggled. "If anyone could see us now; you with your arse in the air, sniffing my cast, to see if it smells of old cum!"

"It smells of fresh cum!" announced Aaron, sitting back on his heels; he grinned down at Jackson. "But tomorrow..." he didn't finish his sentence; Jackson used his good arm to pull him back down on top of him. They squirmed comfortably together into another kiss. A long kiss.


	38. Chapter 38

CHAPTER 38

Aaron put his pint down on the table; he was on his own, neither Jackson nor Dora had arrived yet although Jackson had text him, the hospital was running late. So late he had had time to have a quick shower after work although he was surprised there was no sign of Dora yet. There were only a few other people in the bar; Betty and Pearl were gossiping with Diane at the far end of the bar while Alex and Andy stood midway along, staring silently into their pints. Aaron had nodded to them as he lifted his pint from the bar but had gone to the alcove table furthest from the bar, Dora's favourite table.

He sat with his phone in his hand, idly playing a game while he waited, trying to distract his thoughts from wandering, from wondering what Dora wanted. Most of their meetings had been singly, and they had met most days, even weekends, if only for a short while.

His phone pinged; he saved his score then switched to read the text message, Jackson was finally finished at the hospital. He allowed himself a small smile; no more awkward casts.

The door swung open; automatically the eyes of everyone in the pub turned to see the new arrival.

"Y'alright love?" Chas peered around the corner of the alcove, her sharp voice loud in the quiet bar. "What're you doing here all on your own? Jackson not back yet?"

"Yes. Waiting. No," answered Aaron.

"Eh?" said Chas, puzzled.

"Yes, I'm alright. I'm waiting for Jackson and Dora and no, Jackson isn't back yet," he said, a touch of impatience in his tone.

"Oh. Right," said Chas awkwardly. "So! Are you wanting a top up," she nodded to the half drunk pint. "How are you getting on with Dora? Is she helping, do you feel better?"

"No, you're alright, thanks," he said offhandedly, "I'll wait for Dora and Jackson."

Even as he spoke the door opened again; although his view was blocked it was only a second before Dora came into view behind his mother.

"Miss Dingle," she said politely, sliding into the seat next to Aaron, patting his leg companionably and offering her cheek for his brief kiss of welcome.

Chas opened her mouth in amazement, intending to say something, then silently shut it again.

"Your usual?" Aaron asked Dora, smoothly standing.

"Yes please," beamed Dora. "Have you heard from Jackson?"

"He's on his way," confirmed Aaron, moving to pass Chas. She stood back, allowing him to pass but followed him to the bar, talking up a position a little to one side of him.

"I said to myself..." The door crashed open again and the voice became louder, "I said Hazel, you need to find a doctor, this waiting around is getting ridiculous!" Hazel strode into the bar and looked around, spying Chas, she made her way purposefully over. Behind her, Cain followed; Chas wasn't surprised at his expression, shell shock; in full flow, Hazel was a force of nature to be reckoned with.

"Over two hours we were waiting," she continued, coming to a halt beside Chas. "Two hours to remove two casts and have two x-rays! How long did that take? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? I'll tell you how long that took," she glared around at her audience; Chas, Cain, Dora, Aaron and standing quietly behind her, Jackson. "Ten minutes. Ten minutes!" she repeated. "That's all it took..."

Jackson moved to stand beside Aaron, he was used to his mother's indignant outbursts, he knew the storm would subside after a gin. He pressed the side of his body against Aaron, smiling almost shyly when Aaron looked at him, returning his subtle touch.

"No casts," said Aaron quietly, nodding down at Jackson's left side.

"No casts," agreed Jackson, nodding slightly.

"How does it feel?" asked Aaron.

"A bit sore and achy, to be honest," confessed Jackson.

"Go and sit beside Dora," said Aaron, "I'll bring the drinks over."

Hazel was still holding forth to anyone who would listen but Diane peeled away from the little group to get their drinks.

"She's exaggerating," Jackson was explaining to Dora when Aaron arrived minutes later with their drinks. "It took more than ten minutes to get both casts off and the x-rays taken," he shook his head fondly as he watched his mother, still in high dudgeon and airing her annoyance to anyone still listening. "Although it did seem very quick after all the time we had been waiting," he conceded.

"But they're gone now," said Dora comfortably, "that physical inconvenience is done with."

"I've to see the consultant for a follow up in a few weeks," said Jackson, "and they want me to see a physio next week. But at least the casts have gone."

"And you'll be glad about that," prompted Dora; it wasn't quite a question.

"Very!" laughed Jackson, catching Aaron's smile on the other side of the table.

"Six weeks ago, this day seemed an impossibly long time away, didn't it?" mused Dora. "But here we are, celebrating your 'cast-less-ness'. You've got through it though; you coped with it; that part at least, is over." She spoke quietly; she knew Aaron and Jackson were only half listening to her. Well they might listen more closely in a minute or two when they heard what she had to say. She sipped her drink, watching the unspoken play between them.

"To describe something as being over does imply a certain finality..." continued Dora idly, "...a finality that in reality, might not be there."

"Sorry Dora," said Jackson, bringing his attention back to the older woman, "what were you saying?"

"Oh nothing really, Jackson," laughed Dora, "just being a silly old woman!"

"When are you ever that," scoffed Jackson.

"Yes. Well. That's as maybe," said Dora, hiding her delight. "Now boys, there is something we need to talk about; something I need to tell you."

Suddenly they were all attention, their eyes on her rather than each other.

"Dora?" prompted Aaron, his voice worried now.

"It seems appropriate, an opportune moment," began Dora. She could see the concern etched in their eyes. "We've talked a lot these last few weeks, you've put up with listening to my ramblings without complaint, but I think it is time to draw a line, at least a little one."

"What d'you mean? You're not making sense!" Jackson struggled to keep the panic from his voice. He could feel a sense of dread flooding his body; he knew, instantly he knew what Dora was about to say. "No, Dora," he whispered, "no, please."

"What?" said Aaron, "what're you talking about? What d'you mean?"

"She's leaving," said Jackson quietly, "it's over."

"Jackson!" scolded Dora. "You make it sound so final. It is true I think it is a good time for me to leave Emmerdale; things are changing again for you, your arm and leg are healing well, you will be busy regaining your strength, going back to work and you are coping. And that is what you have been working towards, both of you; not forgetting – that isn't possible – but coping."

"But Dora," began Aaron, "what if we can't...cope I mean?"

"Then I am only a telephone call, a text message, an email away." She smiled kindly at them. "I've wiped tears and snot from both your faces these last few weeks, held you when you couldn't stop crying, I'm not going to abandon you now. But tell me, honestly, are you the same boys as you were six, eight weeks ago? Do you think the same? Feel the same?"

Aaron said nothing; he caught his lower lip with is teeth as he pondered Dora's question, somehow it seemed longer than six weeks ago, so much had changed, so much of that had been down to Dora. He flicked his eyes towards Jackson.

Jackson caught his look, his mouth curled in the slightest of smiles, suddenly thoughts of the night before came into his mind; she was right, they weren't the same people.

"So," said Dora. They hadn't spoken but she had seen every thought, every emotion, cross their faces as clear to read as an open book. If you knew the language. "Have you finished panicking now?" she continued. "Just to be clear, I am not abandoning you, I will never abandon you as long as you need me, we are merely changing the dynamics of our communications. You are away at the weekend, which is fortuitous timing and I do have a university post to get back to." She smiled indulgently at them. "Now. What about some tea?"

...

It was dark by the time they left the Woolie and wandered back up the street towards Smithy. They walked slowly, relishing the peace of the resting village, the comforting darkness.

"I wasn't expecting that," mused Aaron, "Dora leaving."

"No," agreed Jackson, "but I suppose we should have expected it, she couldn't stay here forever, however good it's been." He was silent for a step or two. "And she was right, things have changed, are better." He stopped; his hand sought Aaron's, pulling him to a halt beside him. "I'm glad...how I felt before...the thoughts that had started coming into my head since, well, you know...they were just so horrible. I couldn't have gone on like that."

For a moment both of them were silent, doing nothing but gaze at each other, the only light coming from the sporadic lights illuminating the village street.

"Thank God for Dora," whispered Aaron; he could see Jackson's face, see the strange shadows from the half light playing across it. His eyes, always dark, were deep, bottomless pits glinting in the darkness; a chill passed through Aaron, a sudden, sharp, vision of what might have been, a ghost walking over his grave. "Thank Finn for Dora," he amended. "I'm glad we're going away this weekend."

"Me too," agreed Jackson. "And I'm glad Simon and Robbie can get away too."

"Yeah," said Aaron. "C'mon," he spoke briskly, mentally shaking himself. "Let's get indoors and go to bed."

"Sounds like a plan," grinned Jackson.


	39. Chapter 39

CHAPTER 39

"Hey guys!" Simon thumped loudly on the back door of the Vicarage before pushing it open and entering. "Where are you?" he yelled.

"Upstairs," Finn's voice drifted down to them.

"Come on up," called Greg.

Simon led the way. "Where are you? What are you up to?" he called as he climbed the stairs.

"Bedroom," answered Greg.

Without hesitation, Simon pushed open the door.

Finn and Greg were in bed, Finn curled against Greg, his head on his chest. They were obviously naked and there was no mistaking how they had spent their afternoon.

"How did you know we weren't some old parish lady come to speak to the minister?" Simon bounced into the bedroom. "Feet," he said, claiming a place at the bottom of the bed.

"Old parish ladies, or even young parish ladies, don't generally come to the back door," said Finn. "They knock politely at the front door and ask for the Reverend Nicholson." He stretched.

"If only they could see the Reverend Nicholson now," laughed Aaron, launching himself onto the bed beside Simon, bouncing once, then sliding his hand up under the cover, searching for Finn's leg.

"Ah they'd all want me for my hot body," said Finn stretching again, kicking lazily at Aaron's hand even as he pushed the covers lower on his hips.

"Only thing hot about you is the sweat pouring off you when I make a curry!" teased Greg, ignoring the face Finn pulled at him. "Where's Robbie?"

"Putting the kettle on," said Jackson from the doorway.

"I'll go and give him a hand," said Greg getting out of the bed. Naked, unembarrassed, he walked across the room, on the way picking up a pair of jeans that had been discarded on the floor, pulling them on, not bothering with boxers, then lifting a tee shirt from a chair before disappearing out of the door.

Jackson stood aside to let him pass then crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed.

"I hear Dora's going back to the university this weekend," said Finn. "She phoned me," he added by way of an explanation. "How does that feel?" He opened his arm across the pillow beside him, nodded encouragingly to Jackson.

"Okay," replied Jackson as Finn's arm came comfortably around his shoulder; he snuggled closer.

Finn said nothing, he waited, letting the seconds stretch out; he could feel Jackson moving, unsettled in his embrace. At the bottom of the bed, Aaron shuffled awkwardly, not meeting his eye.

"Scary," admitted Jackson at last. "But I'm kinda relieved it's over too; it's like a seal of approval, we've reached a certain standard...have passed...through...beyond."

"It saying things are better" added Aaron.

"I suspect Dora would disagree with all that and then ask you to define 'things' and 'better'," chuckled Finn. "But you know, anytime," his voice was serious now, "if you need either of us, any of us, just call." He looked from Jackson to Aaron and Simon, including them all.

He let his words, his reassurances, hang in the air for a moment.

"Right guys," he continued briskly. "Seeing as we can't party in the bedroom all evening, I'd better get some clothes on."

"Well we can if you want," teased Simon "I don't mind getting bare naked and keeping you company," he sat up and began to tug at his tee shirt as though he was going to take it off.

"Ah Simon, you're such a slut," Finn leant purposefully forward towards Simon, his hand reaching out as though to slide under his tee shirt. "In your dreams," he said, laughing, as Simon involuntarily jumped backwards.

"Oh spoil a guys fantasies why don't you," huffed Simon cheerfully. "Here Nicholson," he held out his hand to pull Finn from the bed, "get your arse out of that bed, get something on and let's get coffee."

The lights were already on in the kitchen by the time they got down stairs, the late autumn afternoon sun sinking into an early evening. Robbie had a line of mugs laid out in front of him, he flicked the kettle to boil again as his friends filled the spacious kitchen. Greg was at the oven, peering at a dish already cooking.

"Your phone's been going," Robbie said to Aaron, nodding at the mobile that Aaron had dropped on the table when they entered the kitchen. "Was just a number coming up, not a name."

Aaron picked up the mobile and looked at the missed calls; the same number four times, a number he didn't recognise, he shrugged; if it was important they would call again. He slipped the phone into his pocket.

"What's cooking?" asked Simon, going to stand beside Greg, steadying himself with his hand on his shoulder as he peered into the eye level oven.

"Just a stew," shrugged Greg, "but there's an apple pie to go in after. You hungry or something?"

"Starving," confirmed Simon cheerfully.

"How can you be starving?" asked Robbie, "you were eating sweeties all the way up the road!"

"Ah but Aaron kept pinching them," retorted Simon, suddenly jumping the younger lad, his fingers unerringly finding the ticklish spots on his flank.

"Liar!" laughed Aaron, squirming to get away, his own fingers trying to dig into Simon's sides. They grappled with each other for a few moments before falling apart, breathless with laughter.

"How's the old girl in the garage?" Aaron asked Finn.

"Fine," replied Finn, "take her out for a spin, see what you think." He reached for keys hanging amongst others on a board and threw them over to Aaron. He had long ago adjusted the insurance, allowing Aaron to drive the Triumph on the road.

"Thanks," grinned Aaron. "How long till tea's ready Greg?"

"You've got an hour," replied Greg, "at least. Go carefully."

Aaron went out and crossed the drive to the garage. He loved having the chance to drive the old car, to get into her engine, so different from modern engines. It was so simple, so straightforward. He slid into the driver's seat, slipped the key into the ignition and turned the engine on; for a few minutes just let it turn over, listening to the rich noise of the engine. He switched on the lights.

He knew the roads around the town and in the near countryside quite well now and took a route that avoided the main arterial roads and took him down the smaller country roads. He pushed his foot harder on the accelerator, feeling the car respond as his speed quickly increased; the old girl was running well.

Almost reluctantly he turned back towards the town; sooner than he would have liked the country lanes became the outskirts of the small town. He would have liked to have gone further but he knew that Finn would be half listening for his return.

He turned down the vicarage drive, coming to a careful halt in front of the garage. He pulled the bonnet catch before going into the garage, looking first for some old rags to wipe his hands as he tinkered with the engine.

His phone rang.


	40. Chapter 40

CHAPTER 40

Finn heard the Triumph return, he smiled to himself, relieved. He knew Aaron would drive the old car with care, but he still couldn't help but worry...about both of them. He glanced around him; they had moved from the kitchen, the dinner could cook itself for a while longer before Greg needed to concern himself with it again and they were all lounging comfortably in the den, the television quietly tuned to a music channel, the conversation light hearted and easy.

"I'm just heading over to the Abbey," he said, standing over Greg, ruffling his hair. "I've a bit to do before the weekend."

"Okay," said Greg, lifting his face for Finn's quick kiss.

"It's strange seeing you in uniform," said Robbie, looking Finn up and down. He had swapped his tee shirt for a black cotton shirt and his dog collar, although he still wore a rather shabby pair of jeans.

Finn shrugged, smiling wryly. "I'm a priest," he replied quietly, "and when I'm in the Abbey my calling needs to be visible."

"But see when he wears his dog collar in bed," chipped in Greg, "what a turn on!"

"Oh fuck off!" laughed Finn. "I'll see you in a bit."

It was almost dark as he left the vicarage; looking across the drive he could see the Triumph with the bonnet open, there was no sign of Aaron. He wandered over, he must be in the garage; the light was on, its brightness spreading outwards onto the gravel in front of the car.

Finn wandered into the garage. "Aaron," he called. "Aaron!" Nothing. There was silence. A chill went up his spine, the skin along the length of his back began to prickle in apprehension; where was he? It could only be five minutes, hardly more, since he had heard the distinctive sound of the Triumph returning. He ran his hand fractionally above the open engine; it was still warm.

He left the garage; had he gone off somewhere to get something? Surely he would have said, told them. Had he slipped back into the vicarage and they hadn't heard him? No, he would have called out, one of them would have heard him come in, would have called to him.

Finn walked slowly away from the garage; there was a strange smell in the air, a smell he couldn't identify. Suddenly it became stronger, suddenly his foot squelched...he crouched...oh God!

It could only be Aaron that had thrown up here, in the drive, so close to the Triumph.

He stood up sharply. Peering into the darkness away from the dotted patches of light that illuminated spots in the garden, he hoped to see some sign of Aaron, hear him even. Nothing.

He moved towards the edge of the grass and scraped his foot on the turf.

What on earth had happened? Was he ill? Should he go and get the others, search for him alone? He couldn't have gone far, but where should he start looking?

And then he knew.

It was as though he had had never been as more certain of anything; his body tingled with the certainty, a physical sensation that moved over his skin, flooded every nerve. Unthinkingly he began to walk slowly, taking the familiar short cut out of the garden towards the Abbey, following the narrow path that he took every day; a short cut that saved him having to walk up the long drive and back into the Abbey. The short cut, the secret path that he had shown Aaron on one of his visits.

It was harder to find in the dark, if you didn't know the way, if you weren't sure of your footing on the uneven flagstones; even in the dark of the autumn evening Finn sensed someone had blundered haphazardly that way; tall, willowy daisy-headed plants supported broken stems, odd leaves were scattered along the path, twigs sharp where they been broken.

Finn hurried quickly, sure footedly, along the path, his stomach churning in apprehension at what he might find.

In minutes he was in the Abbey precincts, following the dark outline of the building until he came to a small side entrance; he turned the handle and slipped inside.

Evensong had finished although quiet music still filled the air and there were still people sitting in pews, talking in small groups. He walked slowly, not wanting to hurry, appear flustered, draw attention to himself, to Aaron. He spoke to one or two people, parishioners who greeted him, smiling as they exchanged a few words. It was hard though, hard not to push them aside, hard not to run through the building, shouting his name. Even as he was caught by one person after another, his eyes were scanning the pews, the aisles, searching.

And then he saw him.

At the far end of a shadowy transept he stood, stiller than a statue, illuminated only by the glow from dozens of tiny candles; candles lit by the living to remember the dead.

For a few seconds, Finn stood and watched him, gathering his own strength, praying for guidance, then he walked slowly into the gloom towards him.

Aaron didn't turn, didn't look at him, but he knew he was there, felt his warm, safe presence come close to him.

They stood, not speaking yet, an easy quiet as Finn waited, content to give Aaron the time he needed. Behind them, the world of the Abbey continued, the muted sound of distant voices, the breath of music.

"I lit a candle for Archie but I didn't have any money to put in the pot," said Aaron, his voice quietly distant.

Finn slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a few coins; he stepped forward, letting the coins clink into the collection pot.

"There," he said quietly, "we're all square."

"Thanks," whispered Aaron. He didn't move, only stood, staring at the lines of flickering candles on the stand in front of him.

"They're dead," he said at last. He turned to Finn; his eyes were red rimmed with tears that had already fallen for Archie, for Jackson, perhaps even for himself. "The Boss, Tiny, Fetch; they're all dead. Sergeant Pengelly phoned," he continued by way of explanation. "They were in France...the south of France," he spoke slowly, still coming to terms with the news. "They were trying to take a boat...some luxury boat...steal it...they were shot. The Police...they..." He stopped speaking.

Finn moved close beside him, put his arm around him, drew him close, hugged him. The rest of the building retreated from his consciousness, they could have been alone; absently his fingers caressed the back of Aaron's neck as his face was buried into his shoulders, offering small comfort.

"Sergeant Pengelly," said Finn gently, "did he say..."

Aaron shook his head. "He didn't have any details, just confirmation that they were dead. Really dead. He said he'll phone tomorrow after he gets more info."

By unspoken consent, they moved to the wooden pews and sat, at first neither speaking.

"They've been there," said Aaron eventually, "always there in the back of my mind, all these weeks. Sometimes I've scanned faces in the crowd, scared I'll see them."

"But they're gone now. Dead," said Finn firmly, "never able to hurt you, or anyone, again."

"Or Archie. God! Poor Archie." Aaron eyes began to swim with tears again; he sniffed, then briefly wiped his fingers across them, smearing the dampness across his cheeks. "I hope he's right," breathed Aaron, "that it really was them, they are dead, all of them."

"But Sergeant Pengelly was sure, wasn't he?" questioned Finn, "absolutely certain."

"Yes...he said he was...at least, I think that's what he said," replied Aaron, he sat forward, perched on the edge of his seat, twisting one hand in the other, agitated. "But how do I know? It's not like I've seen their dead bodies myself! Oh God! That sounds awful!" He sobbed, his breath catching as he tried to stifle the emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

"It's okay," Finn hushed him gently. "What number did he call you from?"

Aaron reached into his pocket; he scrolled to find the number before handing the mobile to Finn.

Finn took the phone and stood; he walked a few steps away from Aaron then clicked dial. "Sergeant Pengelly? Reverend Nicholson here."

Finn spoke quietly, earnestly, pacing forward and back across the narrow transept, careful to keep out of Aaron's earshot, careful not to attract the attention of the people still appreciating the peace of the Abbey.

Aaron tried not to watch him, tried to keep his breathing steady, not letting his anxiety get the better of him, but it was hard; he wanted so much for it to be true, even if that was wrong of him. And he so much dreaded hearing that it wasn't true, that a mistake had been made. Unable to help himself, he watched Finn pace.

It seemed an eternity until Finn returned to his side, until he handed back the now silent phone.

"He's certain," he said quietly, firmly. "The French authorities matched their DNA on a European database and requested dental records to further confirm identification. Their bodies will be returned to the British authorities in the next few days. They're dead, Aaron, it's over."

His tears began falling again then, silently trickling down his cheeks; he couldn't help himself, it was as though a weight that he hadn't truly been aware of carrying had suddenly been lifted from him. He bit his lip, forcing his eyes upwards in an effort to stem the tears, towards the towering roof space; the stained glass windows were dark, only hinting at the glowing colours that in the daylight hours gleamed like columns of jewels, retelling the familiar stories.

The feelings and emotions of the last weeks rushed back into his mind; the pain and terror of that awful twenty four hours, the aftermath; trying to keep going, trying to pretend that everything was alright and then Dora, weaving her magic, helping so much. Now this news. He was glad, he couldn't help himself, but he was glad those monsters were dead, it was an ending, a line drawn under a moment in time, a moment that would be with him forever but that he knew would never haunt him now. His friends and their care had helped him, them, so much; now circumstance had taken a hand and he would never be afraid of a face in a crowd again.

He looked up again; suddenly a burst of light from outside the building, a car's headlights fortuitously illuminating one of the windows lit up a tall figure shining in the stained glass, bright in the darkness, illuminating the story within the picture, a hand raised in greeting, in blessing.

Beside him, Finn hugged him.

"Come on," said Finn, "Jackson's waiting for you."

THE END

...

_Well that's this story over; thanks to everyone who has stuck with it; to the guys who have so faithfully reviewed the chapters and for everyone who has quietly read it - I know you're out there! I know some of you didn't like some parts or some characters in this story, but I hope that on the whole you enjoyed it anyway. And it may not be finished yet...but no promises._


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